


Let Slip the Whores of War!

by transcryptidone



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Polar (2019)
Genre: (not main pairing), Age Difference, Alpha Duncan vizla, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, And a Cock, Angst, Birth, Blood, Double Vaginal Penetration, Dubious Consent, Edging, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Made Up Biology, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minimal Incest, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Objectification, Omega Will Graham, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Underage (16-17yo), Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Will Graham Has a Vagina, cults?, degredation, erotic birth, multiple pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcryptidone/pseuds/transcryptidone
Summary: Will's fellow students might just think of him asthat slutand they might not even bother with whispering anymore when they gossip about his belly and his pups, but none of that matters. He has his reasons. He can make people happy and drown in that happiness with them. He can have his impact on the world andmean something. He’d had his first heat later than anyone else in his class – alate bloomer, his dad had said – but Will has learned so much since then about how to please and be pleased and, in the process, learned how to turn off his mind for a while.----“Will,” Antony says, “Tell my friend what you told me about what makes you and your litter so wonderfully special.”Will’s hands find their way to his belly as they so often do. He caresses along the great expanse of it as he says, “The pups I carry all have different sires.”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser, Will Graham/Other(s)
Comments: 172
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple notes: 
> 
> In this fic, male Omegas have both a vagina and a large clit/cock. I didn't tag the fic as intersex because I don't want it to seem like I'm trying to represent the actual experience of intersex people. This also includes language like “pussy” so if that’s challenging for you, please be aware of that. 
> 
> This fic references Will having sex and pregnancy/birth when Will is younger (16-17yo), so that's what the tag is for. 
> 
> Will's characterization is partially informed by [this](https://twitter.com/HigherMagic/status/1303470495355080712) HigherMagic tweet/thread.

The music thrums through the whole house. Will can feel it as much as he hears it as he walks down the sidewalk. The vibrations shake through the concrete and the sound of the bass hums at the air. As he comes closer and closer to the front door, he hears the cacophony of conversations yelled over music turned up loud to encourage dancing and touching and sex.  
  
Regardless of all the alcohol held within, the pheromones that poured from the house are intoxicating and enticing on their own. The seductive stink that surrounds the house declares to the whole block that many of the partygoers are young and unmated. The smell is muted slightly by suppressants and scent-blockers, but with so many bodies packed in such a small place, only so much could be done to quell the smell.  
  
Will knows there is no need to knock at a party like this. Will hasn’t ever been to a party that required that sort of politeness and formality. He’s never spent time with the dinner party type, never had the opportunity to. Instead, parties like these are akin to his second home – or maybe even his first. He’s found more connection and comfort at house parties with strangers than he ever did at home with his dad.   
  
The first room past the front door and the entryway is a living room. Those students who are meant to be his peers stumble as they dance in the space made at the center of the room and laugh as they sat squeeze together on couches pushed back against the walls. Their bodies collide in friendly, enthusiastic hugs and after they pull away, they keep close with arms rested companionably on each other’s shoulders. They smile when they looked at each other and some kiss as they are held.  
  
When Will doesn’t find who he was looking for amongst the masses in the living room, he makes his way through to search elsewhere. The crowd parts as he comes closer. Those who don’t move out of his way spill sloshes of cheap alcohol when they gesture too big and knock into him. When another Omega turns the corner too fast and nearly crashes into him, a splash of his drink spills over to soak Will’s hand and the edge of his sleeve. The liquid is sticky with alcohol and sugary mixer as Will brushes it off against his pant leg and walks on.  
  
He finally finds Antony in a hallway. As usual, he is entertaining a group of his peers, a mix of Alphas and Omegas. Will recognizes some of them from times when he’s seen Antony around campus. Antony is loud and personable, which always makes him quick to make friends and easy to spot. Will first met him in their English Literature course when Antony leaned over to murmur into Will’s ear about how much he hated the professor. Will hadn’t much cared one way or the other about the professor – _still doesn’t_. He’s used to teaching himself things. But he’s glad that Dr. Fell is apparently so awful if it gave Antony an excuse to strike up a conversation.  
  
As soon as Will gets himself close enough, Antony leans in so that Will might hear him beyond the music. He smells like the smoke from a firework and freshly shaved pencils and _Alpha_. He’s dressed down from his jacket and scarf but still insists on wearing his vest. Even as dressed down as he is compared to usual, Will still feels underdressed in his jeans and the old t-shirt he should have already swapped out for a larger size.  
  
“I’m so glad you came,” Antony says and he looks like he means it. He has his usual tilted smile and shining eyes. With the stuffiness in the air, his hair is in some disarray and Will suspects his hair will soon be the same way.   
  
“I’m glad you invited me,” Will replies and he _does_ really mean it. There is only one way Will gets invited to parties – or _anywhere_ for that matter – and that’s when someone asks him to meet them there.   
  
“Here,” Antony says as he sets aside his plastic cup on the semi-empty shelf of a bookcase. “Follow me.”  
  
When Antony takes Will by the hand, Will can’t help himself but squeeze his fingers tighter. He feels the skin, muscle, and bone under his hand and the way it all _squeezes back_. It doesn’t calm the craving that Will seems cursed to always carry around, but it helps and holds promise for later.  
  
Will tries not to trip as Antony leads him up the stairs. He hardly has an excuse for being clumsy. It has been a few months since he last had alcohol. It was when Mr. Crawford, the school counselor, had tried to convince him to take a break from his “extra-curricular activities.” The drinks he had at that party hadn’t been an excuse. He didn’t need one. Brian had given him drink after drink when Will hadn’t needed the first one. But the attention was nice so he kept accepting one cup after the next like he welcomed each touch that came later that night.  
  
Antony’s arm slips around Will’s waist as his toe catches on the stair. “Careful!” Antony teases. “We can’t have anything happen to your precious cargo, can we?”  
  
Antony’s fingers spread wide and rub where the dip of Will’s lower back curves outward and goes wide. The touch is hardly purely protective or balancing as Antony presses and kneads his fingers along the tight swell. Meanwhile, Will braces his arm underneath the heavy weight of his swollen womb to help right himself again. It’s a movement that has had so much practice that it’s become a habit. Little arms and legs kick out against his ribs and stretch against his skin near where Antony rubs.  
  
The little ones always respond most when in the presence of an Alpha. It doesn’t seem to matter if the Alpha has anything to do with siring any of them. The pups simply seem to want an Alpha nearby. Will can understand that well. One of the doctors told him it was because he was unmated. With no potential additional parent or protector for his young to bond with while in the womb, his brood would reach out for anyone who might suffice. Another doctor said that this was intended to incentivize him as their mother to provide a suitable Alpha before they arrived.  
  
Will climbs the rest of the stairs just fine, but Antony doesn’t move away. The Alpha keeps his hold with his arm around Will’s waist while the other hand leisurely strokes along the expanse of his belly. Will lets him touch, though it hardly feels like _letting_ him. Each swoop of Antony’s hand is a balm when Will feels dry, withered, and broken. Too little touch, or care, or _intimacy_ creates a drought. Will’s belly has become the oasis in the desert that brings travelers around though they never stay. He’s made himself okay with that.  
  
Antony guides Will to a door left cracked: neither occupied, nor generally available. Will shivers as the Alpha seems reluctant to pull his hand away to push the door wider for them. Antony smiles so nicely at Will when he happily walks through the door and into the bedroom. The smile doesn’t fade — doesn’t have a reason to — as Will sinks to his knees even before the door clicks closed. Will had to keep his hold on his belly with one hand and reach out to brace himself on the bed to make it to his knees, so it’s not his most graceful, but Antony seems to enjoy Will’s grunts of effort all the same.  
  
“You _are_ a good boy, aren’t you?” Antony admires.  
  
“Yes,” Will sighs as he drinks down the praise.  
  
As Antony reaches for his pocket, Will reaches for the Alpha’s belt. Will’s skin prickles with shivers and goosebumps with the memory of Antony’s touch to his hand and his belly and his nerves clamor for more. As soon as Will is treated to a little, he always hungers for more and aches something awful when he has to go without. His legs hurt with all of his weight sitting on top of them but the pain helps him to focus. He needs to draw this out just the right amount and can’t rush it no matter how much slick he can feel soaking his underwear and no matter how much his cock throbs and aches for touch.  
  
Antony’s belt buckle comes away easily. Will’s fingers have had plenty of practice and the clink of metal is practically Pavlovian as his mouth starts to water and his tongue longs to lick. He reaches for the puller on the zipper but his hand is caught before he can lower it even one tooth down the chain. His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion at being stopped. He can see the outline of Antony’s cock straining against his pants. He can smell the arousal in the air. He can _feel_ how Antony wants him. Everything tells Will that he’d done what Antony wants.  
  
Antony smiles down at him as he guides Will’s hand away. “So eager and lovely,” he praises. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to have you properly.”  
  
Will stifles his whine. He lets it be swallowed by his embarrassment. His fellow students might just think of him as _that slut_ and they might not even bother with whispering anymore when they gossip about his belly and his pups, but none of that matters. He has his reasons. He can make people happy and drown in that happiness with them. He can have his impact on the world and _mean something_. He’d had his first heat later than anyone else in his class – a _late bloomer_ , his dad had said – but he’d learned so much since then about how to please and be pleased and, in the process, learned how to turn off his mind for a while.  
  
Antony tut-tuts and clicks his tongue. “Don’t you worry. You’ll be taken care of.”  
  
The noise of the party bursts through as the door opens behind Antony, but it is quickly silenced again as another Alpha gracefully slips through. As Will looks up towards the stranger from his place on his knees, the Alpha seems impossibly tall. His posture is powerful and proud even amongst the disarray in some random sophomore’s bedroom. His clothes are too nice and fitted to have beer spilled on them. Even in the fog of pheromones cast off the many bodies downstairs, Will can scent that this new Alpha smells like nothing he’d experienced before – malt, clove, and wood burning in an oven. Will licks his lips as his mouth waters.  
  
Will doesn’t think he remembers seeing the Alpha before. He doesn’t recall seeing him during any of Antony’s gatherings in his various spots around campus. Will is sure this Alpha was never there; Will would remember if he had been.  
  
Antony moves away and when his belt buckle clinks again as he fastens it, Will grits his teeth against another whine at the absence. His gasp isn’t as easy to stifle and bursts forward as this unknown Alpha steps forward to settle his hand on Will’s head instead. The Alpha’s fingers interweave in Will’s hair and scratch against his scalp until Will sighs and relaxes his shoulders.  
  
“Will,” Antony calls out to catch his attention and when Will slides his eyes back towards him, he continues, “Tell my friend what you told me about what makes you and your litter so wonderfully _special_.”  
  
Will’s hands find their way to his belly as they so often do. He caresses along the great expanse of it as he says, “The pups I carry all have different sires.”  
  
“And how do you know that, love?” Antony encourages. His tone is as light and playful as ever and his smile is mischievous to match. “You wouldn’t just tease us, would you? Alphas can have their hearts broken too.”  
  
The hand in Will’s hair continues its stroking as fingers curl to cradle around the back of his skull. When Will looks back to him, the Alpha shows nothing in his expression. He neither smiles nor frowns. His eyes hold interest, but no pleasure, not yet.  
  
“I wouldn’t,” Will promises quietly as he tilts into the Alpha’s hold. “It’s just how I am. I don’t know why.”  
  
“How many times have you whelped for multiple Alphas at once?” the Alpha asks.  
  
His tone is direct but curious. His deep voice smooths the words and his accent gives them a unique lilt. Will wonders what praise would sound like with that voice. It would be such a beautiful achievement to give happiness to such an Alpha and earn his praise in return. Will keens and arches his back as far as he can until the furthest curve of his belly nearly touches his knees.  
  
“They don’t always come together,” Will replies, and there is kicking against Will’s hands as he sighs. “Sometimes some of them need more time to grow.”  
  
The Alpha hums and nods his head ever so slightly. “How many have pups have you had, Will?” he asks instead.  
  
The corner of Will’s lips twitches in a smile. That’s a better question.  
  
“Six,” he answers.  
  
The Alpha flicks his knowing eyes towards the huge curve of Will’s belly. “And after you have these?”  
  
“Ten.”  
  
Antony scoffs from where he stands off to the side, but neither Will nor the Alpha see a reason to acknowledge him.  
  
Instead, the Alpha continues on and asks, “Have you given them all away?”  
  
The question hurts as much as it doesn’t. Will carries his pups with him for many, many weeks and he loves each and every one of them. He is glad to have them for as long as he can even if he has not been able to ultimately keep them. Whenever he’d asked about his mother growing up, Will’s dad always told him it didn’t matter that she was gone. He’d say that Will’s mother gave his dad all that she needed to when she brought Will into the world.  
  
“Yes,” Will replies. “They all went to families who wanted them more than anything.”  
  
The Alpha crouches down to balance on the tips of his toes – his pants were too nice for the carpet – and brushes his fingers down from Will’s hair, around his ear, and to the side of his unmarked neck. Will moans wetly behind his teeth as Hannibal touched the gland that’s grown too swollen and sensitive as his body rebels against an Omega who has gone too long pregnant and too long without an Alpha. The Alpha’s touch is gentle, barely brushing against his skin but it already has him trembling anyway. The slightness is almost worse for the temptation.   
  
“What if you didn’t have to anymore?” the Alpha asks him and he still just sounds so _curious_ that Will starts to wonder if _curious_ might mean _good_. “What if you could keep them?”  
  
“How?” Will asks as he blinks back the burning at his eyes – maybe tears, maybe gold, maybe both.  
  
“I could take you away from here,” the Alpha suggests like it’s that simple and easy. “You could have everything you ever wanted.”  
  
Will furrows his brows. His eyes flit between Antony as he stands in the background and the Alpha who is there so tantalizingly close and he asks himself his most common question: _What do they want?_ He could please them. He knows he can. He can give them pups if they want. He’s done that before. But being whisked away? That’s something new. No one’s ever wanted that of him – or _for_ him? – before.  
  
“What would I have to do?” Will asks.  
  
“Come back with me in the summer when my family gathers,” the Alpha explains. “But you’ll have to be empty by then. Can you do that?”  
  
With the Alpha's left hand pressing enticingly against the gland at Will's neck, he sets his right hand down on top of the swell of Will’s womb and Will smiles as the babies start to kick harder again. The biggest and heaviest one has already sunk to the bottom, ready soon to be born. That’s the one that kicks the hardest, distending his skin so severely that Will can almost make out full the shape of its foot with its toes. The remaining younger three still need time to figure out their coordination but still do their best to make themselves known too. The one Will thinks might be the youngest kicks out squarely against the Alpha’s palm.   
  
Will has been amazed by the little kicks since the first time he felt them with his very first litter. At the time, he hadn’t known what to make of it. Everything was new and unfamiliar. But, even then, when his teachers all pitied and disapproved of him and his peers found him even stranger than they had before, the kicks of his pups were an easy comfort.  
  
“I don’t know,” Will answers and ducks his head away from the possibility that the first true emotion he sees in the Alpha’s expression might be _disappointment_. “I’ll be lonely,” he confesses.  
  
The shift of the Alpha’s fingers away from Will’s swollen, needy gland makes Will want to cry out. The movement sends desire rushing through him tainted by loss. Will clenches his jaw and the Alpha’s fingers travel along the edge of it until he reaches the point of Will’s chin. As Will’s face is tilted upwards again, he has no choice but to look into the depths of the Alpha’s eyes, a beautiful brown ringed with a sliver of red.  
  
“I’ll make sure you won’t be,” the Alpha promises as he leans forward. “Never again,” he whispers against Will’s lips and he seals the promise with the press of a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is not what I planned to write/post today, but it manifested itself.
> 
> Comment because I'm a slut for praise too!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags, so please check them again. I'll be updating them as I go along and things develop. I want to be on the safe side so I might tag stuff a little too much. Please let me know if you think a tag is missing.

The first time Will ever gave birth, he was at home alone. It was nine months to the day since his first heat and his dad had been out on the water since before the sun came up. Will had woken in the night with some pain but by then his womb had become heavy and swollen, so pain was a regular occurrence and nothing to get too worked up about. Contractions weren’t uncommon either as his body prepared him for what would become the most terrifying and wonderful day of his life.  
  
Will had heard his dad leave in the early hours of the morning and fell back asleep like he always did and made breakfast like he always did. He kept cooking even as his back experienced stabs of pain so intense he nearly dropped an egg on the floor. He kept hold of the egg although his grip nearly cracked it and kept cooking. He’d sat down to eat even though he hardly felt like he had any space for breakfast. He raised his fork to his mouth even as his hands shook so hard the food fell off the fork multiple times. His pains lasted longer and hurt more as morning turned into the afternoon. Just after the sun passed its peak, panic rushed over him as fluid spilled and pooled on the floor.  
  
When Will wakes in the middle of the night in his dorm room, he’s just as nonchalant. It’s not because he knows too little about what is happening to him but because by now he actually knows a lot. This time there’s no panic that comes when his water breaks. He simply gets up – though it’s much simpler to _say_ than it is to actually _do_ it – and changes the layers of his nest that got soaked. As he bunches up the blankets and drops them in a pile in the corner of the room, he knows there’s nothing to worry about. He’d lined his nest one layer deep with a plastic sheet knowing this day would come sooner than later. He replaces the blankets with another set that he prepared ahead of time and kept folded and stacked on his desk.  
  
Will rooms alone, which is for the best. His nest takes up half of the room and it would be difficult to keep from waking a roommate with moans and groans and yelps from labor and birth, particularly when it can be difficult enough to keep his sounds from echoing down the hallways. Still, he tries to keep quiet as he paces the room. He clenches his jaw to keep his groan trapped behind his teeth and nearly bites through his bottom lip to hold in a yelp. He massages at his womb as it clenches and sweat dampens the back of his neck and drips in heavy droplets down his spine.  
  
He prods low on his belly and presses and squeezes towards the top to make sure the pup who is ready to be born is descending properly and the ones who are not ready yet stay tucked up and away. Everything seems to be progressing as it should be and he can feel the pup move deeper and lower in his pelvis as he paces and paces until his legs wobble. He collapses back into his nest when he can’t hold himself up any longer. His legs tremble as he keeps himself on his knees and leans against the wall to keep gravity as his helper. But, as another pain crashes through him, even staying upright becomes too much of a burden and he falls onto his hands and knees.  
  
He has to arch his back to reach as he presses two fingers into his pussy and moans with the pain and the pleasure. He feels exposed and broken open. His back dips harshly and his belly hangs obscenely as he tilts his hips up to meet his hand but it’s all he can do to reach. The farthest curve of his belly presses against the base of the nest and adds to the pressure that already threatens to crush him. His cock aches with the want to be touched and throbs in time with the pulse of the sensitive glands at his neck. He gasps in relief and desperation when he arches his back further to press his fingers in deeper and he feels how well he’s dilated and how soon he’ll be able to push.  
  
He could go to the hospital but by now he knows what he needs to do and hospitals only mean poking and prodding and another round of doctors who are both _fascinated_ and _disapproving_. They – those supposed _professionals_ – whispered about him just as much and just as harshly as the teenagers in high school. They always wanted to know _why_ and _how_ but could never actually figure it out for themselves. They took more than they gave and didn’t seem any happier as a result.  
  
His first birth had been triplets and he’d done it all by himself. When his dad came home he’d already birthed all three of them and had them all cuddled in blankets on his bed. Even though they couldn’t afford it, his dad took one look at Will and his pups and called an ambulance. Will had held a pup in each arm while his dad held the third. His dad’s eyes were vacant as he stared down at the little pup and the ambulance’s siren blared even though Will didn’t know why they bothered.  
  
The fourth pup was discovered at the hospital. It was smaller which had helped it to stay hidden and tucked away behind its bigger siblings. As soon as they found it, the doctors wanted all the babies to be born at once. They said it was better and healthier that way even though the remaining pup was still needed more time to grow. The doctors told him that everything about that pup had shown that it was a month younger than the rest and that there were no indications of anything going wrong. Will was sure they came to regret having told him because it was for those reasons that Will had decided the pup should stay put.  
  
As another contraction rolls through him, his limits feel stretched. His fingers grip like claws in his nest to protest the strain. As one pup comes closer and closer to its exit, another kicks at the top of his tensed womb as if to complain about the interruption to its sleep. He grits his teeth and hisses as he pushes back against the foot that protrudes and keeps himself from pushing between his legs. His sigh becomes a sob as the little limb curls back in and the muscles of his womb let him have a moment’s rest. He tries to savor the pause for how temporary it will be. Soon, the pain will be nearly constant.  
  
He has just a little longer to wait but this is when waiting feels the worst. He has to remind himself that it will be over soon. He just has to wait a little longer until he can push and he’ll push like he knows he should and have the pup out in no time. He only has just the one to birth this time. Just a little more, one more pup, and then he can save the rest of the pain for later.  
  
When Will refused to birth the fourth too soon and his dad didn’t know how to make the decision to go against him, the doctors kept Will in the hospital to keep a watch on him. That close watch kept Will and his dad from having to foot the bill. Will was an oddity for close study and that had some value and, for Will, being poked and prodded every day was a small price to pay to keep his pup where it was meant to be. It was an arrangement that worked out well enough.  
  
Will spent a month waiting and waiting while the last remaining pup grew into the space its siblings left behind. A social worker was assigned to his case, a tutor came to his bedside to make sure he didn’t fall behind in school, and that’s when Mr. Crawford started to schedule regular meetings with him. In his need for a project after his wife’s passing, Mr. Crawford decided Will was his responsibility to watch over. With no peers to spend time with and keep happy, Will contented himself with helping his school counselor get what he needed.  
  
After that pup was born, everyone insisted that Will use heat suppressants _and_ condoms. The doctors gave him a bunch of the pills when he left. There were boxes and boxes that rattled as his dad carried them to their truck. He took his pill every day and Mr. Crawford always gave him a condom on his way out of the office even though it embarrassed them both. But that was okay because he could see how much it made Mr. Crawford and his dad happy when he made it one month and then two and he celebrated his seventeenth birthday without a heat and without a pup in his belly.  
  
After his birthday, Will’s care got transferred to Dr. Sutcliffe, who forgot to give Will his refill on his suppressants. When the social worker — Mr. Ingram — came to do a visit, Will knew from the look in his eye and his sly smile that the Alpha didn’t want to use a condom. That was fine with Will. He hadn’t wanted to either.  
  
Will doesn’t think he can wait any longer to push. He checks himself one more time just to be sure and gasps loud in relief when his fingers push in deep and spread wide to feel how he’s opened and dilate. He pants loud and wet with the reassurance that he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. He rubs a hand across his aching womb and shivers as more sweat drips down his skin and there are goosebumps against his palm. His breaths are harsh as they pass between his teeth and he finds himself smiling.  
  
He pulls his fingers from his hole and forces himself up on his knees again. With his hands free, he presses one hand against his neck. He digs in with his fingernails against the sensitive gland at the side of his throat like an Alpha might dig in with teeth. The action isn’t meant to draw blood, but encourage him to secrete the chemicals that ease his pain and encourage closeness from a mate for further assistance. Without anyone there to offer any assistance, he grips his other hand at the other side too. He presses down against the gland’s pair and with both hands at his throat, it feels so near and close to choking. As sensitive as the glands are, there is the startling pain of overstimulation, but it has its pleasure and it’s a pain Will can control.  
  
This next part is his favorite and least favorite rolled in one. It _hurts_ so _fiercely_. He’ll have to feel nearly torn apart to make something new. It’s something beautiful and terrible all at once and Will is sure there’s nothing else like it in the world. That’s what made it so impossible to give up.   
  
First he’d missed one meeting with Mr. Crawford and then two and when his school counselor asked why, Will wanted him to be proud so he said he was studying with friends. His grades backed him up even though _studying with friends_ really meant he was pleasuring his schoolmates in the back of the library. Just before graduation, he visited Mr. Crawford in his office one last time. The older Alpha had looked at Will in his graduation gown with such pride. Mr. Crawford’s pride so quickly disappeared when saw how Will’s belly rounded out against where the cheap, black fabric should hang. The shift was so sudden Will was nearly brought to his knees. Will wobbled to stay upright as Mr. Crawford folded his hands and scrunched his brows, but he would go on hands and knees soon after from the want to see the gap in Mr. Crawford’s teeth when he smiled.  
  
A bone-deep satisfaction rolls through Will as he gasps air in after a powerful push that managed to shift the pup down quite a bit. He laughs once at how the pain, pleasure, satisfaction, and resignation all merge as one. He wants to get this baby out because he has to. He does what the pain tells him to and he is rewarded. His pain has meaning this way. He pushes again as the contraction returns and he counts off in his head as he bears down. He goes in cycles of pushing, counting, and hurting until his head starts to spin. He presses harshly at his glands to startle and ground himself as he feels the burning sting of very nearly crowning.  
  
He mourns the loss as he pulls a hand back to press at the head and give himself the chance to stretch. He denies himself any progress for the length of another contraction even though part of him hates himself for it. He waits until the burn has eased to a manageable level and he can push again. It makes it that much more satisfying when he allows himself to _finally_ put his everything into pushing.  
  
The pup’s head is out in almost no time. Will’s hand is shaky but careful as he makes sure the chord isn’t wrapped around the pup’s neck. He sighs in relief when he doesn’t feel it there. He’s not surprised, but there is always a part of him that worries that _this time_ will be the time. With that reassurance, he can give himself over to his instincts and push as his body demands with the clench and unclenching of his womb.  
  
The pup is so close to being born. He’s already gotten to touch the top of the brand new pup’s head. There’s a brand new life he’s bringing into the world. One shoulder is born and then the next and soon enough the pup is slipping free in a jumble along with the last of its fluids. Will catches the pup quickly and carefully and lifts the little thing up to clear her mouth and nose and rub at her chest until she gives a squealing cry. Will laughs and smiles as he soothes her. He mumbles half-spoken apologies for disturbing her peace.  
  
With his battle fought and won, everything else feels that much easier to take care of. It’s been made simple by practice and habit. There is muscle memory and there are whispered instructions buried in his subconscious. He records the time of birth with barely a thought. The chord and the placenta are easy enough to deal with. He’s gentle with easing the pup’s little arms and legs into a diaper and onesie.  
  
He cradles the little pup in his arms and looks at her for likely the first and only time in either of their lifetimes. Will smiles at how she looks like her sire. He’s seen enough newborns to know the difference. Her nose is the same as her sire’s, as well as the color of her eyes and the shape of her ears. Her skin tone has mixed with Will’s and is a few shades lighter than her sire’s. Will kisses at the black hair at the top of her head.   
  
“Your dad will be so happy to see you,” Will coos softly at the pup as he tickles at her plump little cheeks. “He’d thought his chance for pups was behind him.”  
  
The pup squirms and snuffles and whines as she wriggles. She turns her mouth and nuzzles against Will’s chest until Will lifts her a little higher and guides her a little to the side to help her latch on and drink. She fits so perfectly laying across his belly like that. Her siblings still sit inside his womb waiting. They are separated now that the pup is out in the world.  
  
Male Omegas don’t have breasts quite like women do – Omega, Beta, or Alpha. Even with his many pups, his breasts barely swell and he seems to only have enough milk for a pup’s first meal. He always tells himself that’s his body’s way of making sure he knows his place. He can make his pups and carry them and bring them into the world as much as he wants, but he should only nurture them for a short while until their true parents arrive.  
  
He will contact Mr. Crawford soon. For now, the pup snuffles and sucks and pulls the milk Will has to offer to her.  
  
“You’ll help him,” Will tells the little pup as he touches the band of the hat he’d tucked onto her little head. He sighs deep and hard as he touches the curl of her tiny fingers. “He’ll have less room for grief while you’re around.”  
  
After the pup has had all Will has to offer, she falls into a well-fed sleep. He wraps her up tightly in a blanket and tucks her in a clean, dry part of the nest as he finds his own clothes and his phone. He sends a text to Mr. Crawford to let him know that his pup has been born. His thumb clicks back to his contacts and, without much of a thought, hovers over another name. The Alpha – _Hannibal_ – gave Will his number as a parting gift. Will hesitates just then and when Mr. Crawford responds quickly, he checks that message instead. Dr. Crawford’s response is clipped and brusque, tinged with discomfort and guilt he doesn’t need to feel, but he’s coming so that’s all Will can ask for.  
  
Will rubs his hand along his belly. His contractions have waned for now. He can still feel his remaining pups squirming around in there and settling into their new spots with all the extra space. They’ll get to stretch their little limbs further now. His pups usually started off on the smaller side to deal with being squished together with bigger, stronger siblings, but they made up for it in leaps and bounds as soon as they have some more room to grow.  
  
He looks back at the pup as she snuffles in her sleep. It’s harder to give the little whelp away when there’s nothing to replace her with. The pup will leave behind empty space in his arms and his womb with nothing to ease the ache. Will finds his thumb hovering again over Hannibal’s number. When he hesitates again, he realizes it’s because he’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure whether to ask Hannibal to come or if even _could_. Will has always answered the summons and never come close to giving them. Will settles on simply informing Hannibal that one pup has been born. He’s doing as he should and he’ll leave it at that.  
  
After that text is sent, Will sets his phone aside and curls himself on his side next to the pup. He might hear the phone buzzing, but he doesn’t pay it any attention and simply synchronizes his breathing with the pup’s sleepy breaths. Will might fall asleep then. He thinks he must have when he wakes to a knock on the door and sunlight streaming through the curtains. With another set of knocks, he cracks open his eyes and sees the pup’s face start to scrunch up in annoyance at the disturbance. He shushes the pup and his concern for her sleep has him getting out of the nest as fast as he can with his hurting, aching body and womb still heavy with three more pups not yet ready to come into the world.  
  
He cracks open the door before a third set of knocks, which he’s sure would have been louder and more insistent. Mr. Crawford’s fist still hangs in mid-air as Will peers through the doorway. The Alpha looks thinner and grayer than when Will last saw him, but still carries his strength in the power of his stature and span of his shoulders.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Crawford,” Will greets.  
  
Mr. Crawford is quiet and solemn as he greets, “Hello, Will.”  
  
Will opens the door wider and gestures with his arm as he says, “Please come in.”  
  
He sees Mr. Crawford wrinkle his nose with the scent that clouds Will’s dorm room. Will has no doubt that the air is thoroughly laced with the fog of pheromones cast off of an Omega giving birth. It’s a scent that entices and warns in equal measures. It lets others know there is a strong, fertile Omega around, but it would be a mistake to think of such an Omega as vulnerable. Even without a mate to offer protection, Omegas will fight to the death for their young if they have to.  
  
Will has to brace himself with one arm as he crouches down towards the nest. He waits until he’s steady to reach over and scoop the pup into his arms. He smiles at how she’s still asleep – _such a good pup already_ – and he’s careful not to jostle her as he stands again. Will turns and approaches Mr. Crawford to eases the baby into his arms. The pup stirs and starts to cry at being away from him and held by someone else but he tsks his tongue kindly and adjusts the hat on her head again as she settles and recognizes her sire.  
  
“ _Look_ ,“ Will encourages as he looks up at Mr. Crawford. “Look and see how amazing she is.”  
  
Mr. Crawford cradles the pup so carefully in his strong arms, but he seems to relax as he sighs, “ _Bella_.“  
  
Will looks into the shine of Mr. Crawford’s eyes and sees how the grief has started to soften just from a few minutes of looking at the pup and Will’s grief is softened too. Brian and Mr. Ingram’s pups were born during the summer — Brian’s just before he and his dad started the drive to move him in for college. Mr. Crawford’s pup has stuck with him the whole time he’s been at college. It kicked him to keep him awake to study for finals like he thought Mr. Crawford might. At the end of his exams, the pup rewarded him with a nice long nap that went undisturbed by any harsh, sudden movements.  
  
Will eases himself onto the sparse mound of blankets that make up his barebones nest. He rubs his belly as the remaining pups continue to shift to find their new places. He doesn’t have to look up to know Mr. Crawford’s eyes are on him. He feels Mr. Crawford’s guilt dousing him, ice-cold and punishing. He shivers and wished the happy warmth hadn’t been so fleeting.  
  
“I know you don’t like to be the cause for concern, but I am concerned about you,” Mr. Crawford says, speaking each word carefully and specifically.   
  
“I’m an old hand at this,” Will says as he blinks back any tears and the scratch of gold at his eyes that demands he nurture and care. “I can manage.”  
  
“We didn’t want you to get broken,” Mr. Crawford says and there is remorse in his tone. Will might not have thought someone as steadfast and bullheaded could manage to sound so regretful and he wishes he wasn’t the cause for this discovery. “Is that what happened? Have I broken you?”  
  
“This is what I do well,” Will replies with a shrug and more tense, anxious blinks. “Better than anyone.”  
  
Another series of knocks sound at Will’s door. They’re sharp and quick in succession. Will pulls himself to his feet with another groan and feels Mr. Crawford’s eyes on him as he crosses the room to the door. He cracks the door open once more and Hannibal is there at the other side, looking even more impeccable than the last time Will saw him in his full three-piece suit and tie. Will is sweaty and his hair is a mess of curls. As he opens the door wider, he’s embarrassed by the flimsiness of his t-shirt and baggy sweatpants.   
  
As Hannibal steps into his dorm room, he looks older too than Will remembers him. In the light of day, the shadows under his eyes come not from poor lighting but age. The afternoon sun shows the slight creases and graying of his hair where nighttime did not. Will realizes that he never recognized Hannibal amongst Antony’s friends because his age indicates he’s more similar to a professor than a student.  
  
As Hannibal and Mr. Crawford look at each other, they must realize they’re not too different in age. Hannibal’s eyes slide between Mr. Crawford’s scowling face and the pup in his arms and back again. He meets Mr. Crawford’s judgment with the slight raise of his brows, which only seems to make Mr. Crawford scowl harder. Hannibal gives no reaction, but Will has to keep himself from flinching when Mr. Crawford directs that scowl at him.  
  
“You need to take better care of yourself, Will,” Mr. Crawford says and it sounds so much like the many other times Mr. Crawford told him that.  
  
“I’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Hannibal interjects as he steps towards Will and settles a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Mr. Crawford looks like he might argue – like he might demand to know who Hannibal is and what he wants. Will almost wants to let him try because he wants to know too and, even if Hannibal won’t answer, Will still might learn more. But the pup reminds them all why they’re there and makes sure at least to grab the attention of the one who sired her and the one who birthed her.  
  
“You should take her home,” Will suggests as her cries only grow in volume and scratch like sharpened nails deep into his chest and against his heart.  
  
Mr. Crawford sighs. “I should,” he says. “I’m glad I came to do this part myself. It was good to see you, Will.”  
  
“It was good to see you too,” he answers and he knows his smile is half-hearted and lopsided.  
  
Hannibal’s hand grips harder at his shoulder and the warmth of it feels so close to Will’s neck where he remembers the Alpha’s touch feeling _so good_. He whines and tips his head as Mr. Crawford turns to leave the room and bares his neck further to encourage Hannibal’s touch. As soon as the door clicks closed, Will is given what he whimpers for: Hannibal’s strong, sure hand curves around the front of his throat to press on one gland with his fingers and touch at its pair mirrored on the other side with his thumb. Hannibal’s other hand brushes back the sweaty bangs that hang down and his palm presses flat against Will’s forehead.  
  
“How do you feel?” Hannibal asks him and Will has no idea where to start with his answer.  
  
Emotions flash through him with abandon. He tries to find some order but if he does, he can’t maintain it: sadness, relief, happiness, desperation, confusion, uncertainty, pleasure, and pain. Hannibal’s touch intensifies it and his presence dulls it. The only emotions he can pull from the Alpha are curiosity and a sense of neutrality.  
  
Hannibal guides him to the nest and offers his arms and his chest as anchors to help Will settle into it. Will’s body is so sore and even his throat aches from groaning and holding in his shouts and yells. He reaches a hand out to Hannibal, who accepts it as the invitation it is. The Alpha is much more graceful as he joins him and Will wishes he had a better nest to show him. It hardly seems like enough when he looks at the beautiful fabric Hannibal’s clothes are made of. They are soft and smooth against his fingers as he holds Hannibal close and tips his head to meet the Alpha’s mouth weakly. He puts any energy he has left into the press of their lips, but he can feel it’s not fully what Hannibal wants and whimpers.  
  
“Sleep,” Hannibal soothes, “You’ve done well.”  
  
“I want to do _more_ ,” Will begs before he knows what’s he’s saying and he flinches as he realizes the words that left his mouth. “It’s not _enough_.”  
  
Hannibal kisses at his burning cheek and places a hand against the still-swollen curve of Will’s belly. “It’s enough for me, my dear.”   
  
“I know it’s not,” Will whines. “I can feel it.”  
  
There’s something in the Alpha’s touch that seems detached. It’s there, but it’s as if he’s hovering just out of reach. Will feels it the way he feels the empty space in his womb. Even as Hannibal’s touch rubs along where kicks are resuming their usual activity, it all seems too little and too far away. Will feels himself nearly frantic as he touches across Hannibal’s broad shoulders and his arms. He wants so badly to _please_ the Alpha, but he’s never been so unsure _how_ before.  
  
He whimpers again as Hannibal pulls back his hand and capture’s one of Will’s to keep him from fretfully petting. Will hadn’t wanted Hannibal to stop touching him or for Hannibal to stop him from touching. That was the _last_ thing he wanted. He writhes as he rebels and rubs himself as much as he can against Hannibal. The Alpha presses their hands together over his belly until their palms lie flat and Will’s breathing evens out.  
  
“It’s enough for now,” Hannibal murmurs as Will drifts to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still a slut for praise, so any comments are appreciated!
> 
> (Seems like there might have been a glitch when I first posted this chapter, so I had to repost it. Sorry if that confused anyone!)


	3. Chapter 3

Notebooks shuffle and backpacks zip and unzip around Will as class comes to a close. He goes through the motions to stack his own papers. They’re all blank. He hadn’t written down a single sentence of anything related to the lecture. He hadn’t bothered to try. His thoughts had been far away and were only rooted and punctuated by the taps of his fingers counting the remaining kicks in his womb. Kicks, swishes, flutters, and rolls, he’d counted them in groups of ten over and over until class was over.  
  
When he stands from the desk, he gives himself a wider berth than he needs to. He’s too used to dealing with much more belly and weight. His belly has become smaller and more compact with each pup born, only making room for what was needed and nothing more. Now, with only one pup left, the curve of his belly is still very much _there_ but now sits simply round and relatively manageable. The hold of his hand at the underside is another habit that’s entirely normal, but feels slightly off as the weight against his palm seems too little.  
  
Both of the pups conceived in summer loneliness have been born. The only one that remains arose from a fellow first-year student’s homesickness and longing for his long-distance Omega boyfriend. The pup doesn’t seem to mind being on its own as much as Will does.  
  
Antony sighs next to him as he raises his bag to his shoulder. He’s continued to sit next to Will in class and continued to engage in light-hearted, teasing chatter with him afterward. It’s strange to Will to have someone who talks to him all the time. In high school, he probably talked to Beverly most and still that was only _sometimes_ and even within those _sometimes_ , Beverly was more talking _at him_. Other times, Brian might pull him away at any moment for something that was very much not _talking_.  
  
Will follows Antony out of the classroom and down the hallway all the while listening to Antony complain some more. He’s realized by now that Antony’s complaints are poorly disguised jealousy, so it’s best to simply nod along when he’s expected to. As they turn around another corner, Will brushes his hand against Antony’s arm and looks at him with the tip of his chin downwards and a smile. Antony answers with his own smile and moves in closer, positioning their bodies closer together and nearer to the wall, halting their companionable stroll.  
  
Will breaths in the scent of pleased, aroused Alpha and smirks when Antony does. Antony’s eyes look down to meet Will’s and drag further down to his mouth and when Will thinks he might lick his lips, Antony tsks his tongue instead. “It’s not that you wouldn’t be delightful,” he says with the shake of his head and a step backward again. The pat on Will’s arm is _amiable._ “It’s that I don’t think Hannibal would like it.”  
  
Will feels the sting of rejection like the snap of bared teeth. It’s a feeling he’s far too familiar with for his liking. Hannibal’s attentions have kept him from feeling lonely but not from feeling rejected, not quite. At first, it was hard to believe Hannibal might keep his promise. Loneliness has become an inevitability that Will does his best to keep at bay and anything else has seemed like too much to ask for. But, ever since Mr. Crawford came to take his pup, Hannibal’s kept Will company on a regular basis. He’s brought Will meals far fancier than he’s ever had and brought blankets for Will’s nest laced with his scent. As Will has focused more on Hannibal and had less time for pleasuring his peers, Will has started to imagine a life where he might have company often but only a company of one.  
_  
_ “Is Hannibal _traditional_?” Will asks.  
  
Antony laughs once, _loud_. It echoes through the hallway and earns them strange looks when Will casts his eyes around. “No, he’s not traditional,” Antony says, still chuckling. “Not the way you mean it anyway.”  
  
Will sighs. He knows Antony enjoys all these half-truths and winks and nudges because he likes being _in_ on something – in _cahoots_ with Hannibal. But, so long as Will feeds Antony’s affection for conspiracy, he is rewarded in bits of information. That’s how Will learned Hannibal is a psychiatrist and _home_ is Lithuania. Will didn’t need Antony to tell him that Hannibal is wealthy.  
  
“How did you meet him?” Will asks.  
  
Antony smirks like he was _just waiting_ for Will to ask him. He drops his voice down to a conspiratorial murmur. “One day I went to a party, some celebration of someone who didn’t deserve what they won. Just when I wanted to drown myself in champagne, I saw someone who looked like he might fit in but shouldn’t be there. In the course of casual conversation, he asked me to keep an eye out for him and, of course, I told him I’m always happy to help a friend.”  
  
Will can easily imagine the kind of party Antony would attend on invitation and Hannibal would attend because he knows he can. When Will looks back at Antony, he sees him how Hannibal sees him and how Hannibal saw him the first time they met. Antony is a collector and distributor of information, but not just any peddler. He knows that if he wants the good, _juicy_ gossip, he has to demonstrate some discretion.   
  
“Keep an eye out,” Will repeats and he pets his hand along the side of his belly. “For someone fertile?”  
  
“Someone _particularly_ fertile. Not just any Omega that promises a breeding in heat. Hannibal said he was looking for someone _special_ ,” Antony says. He laughs and shakes his head slightly. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to find anyone while in Uni – not many have your _fortitude_ – but then there you were.”  
  
Will considers that his company of one might not be just one for very long. Instead of imagining the two of them eating alone together for forever at a dining table fit for a feast, Will would have pups in his belly and sitting there next to him in high chairs and on booster seats. As he imagines this, he doesn’t quite believe that this would be what Hannibal really wants. The Hannibal in his imagination still isn’t _smiling_.  
  
“You said he wasn’t traditional _exactly_ ,” Will recalls.   
  
Antony hums and smirks again. “His family has its own traditions.”  
  
Will thinks about his conversation with Antony on his walk back to his dorm. It helps to distract him from the encroaching summer heat and the ache of his feet. Antony wouldn’t tell him much more — _that would spoil the fun_ — but Will has always worked with more than just what he’s told. Will knows many people look at him and believe he’s not thinking. Even if they don’t say it, he sees from the look in their eyes, shake of their heads, and frown on their lips, that they’re thinking _“how could he make such terrible choices?”_ Will’s had to accept that he just doesn’t think like they do – or at least that’s what Mr. Crawford always said.   
  
Hannibal is at his door again when Will arrives back at his room. Will isn’t even surprised anymore. He’s not sure exactly what to think about how he’s come to expect it. He drops his keys in Hannibal’s hand and lets Hannibal sort through them to unlock the door. Will’s hands used to shake when the Alpha was around and he had a hard time picking up keys off the floor. The keys jingle only for a moment as Hannibal knows the right one right away. At that moment, Will leans in closer to scent him and smiles as the sophisticated warmth of his scent evokes the feeling of lounging in the libraries of Hannibal’s mind.  
  
“How was Antony?” Hannibal asks as they step through the door. Will knows by now that if he can scent Hannibal, then Hannibal has been scenting him too. The Alpha curls Will’s keys into his hand and Will knows they won’t be staying. Hannibal must have dinner waiting for them in the warming drawer at home.  
  
“Same as always,” Will says as he drops his bag by his bed. The textbooks knock heavily against each other like deadweight. “I don’t know why I bother with classes. I know I won’t be coming back.”  
  
Will knows that when he agreed to _visit Hannibal’s family in the summer_ , he agreed to much more than just the summer. In the time they’ve spent together, he’s learned that the way Hannibal speaks always means multiple things. Will just hasn’t learned yet how to figure those things out _while_ Hannibal’s saying them. He still has to piece it together later.  
  
“You will come back if you wish to,” Hannibal replies, and _that one_ Will understands just fine.  
  
“You’re not waiting around for me to _wish_ for it,” Will observes. There’s no malice in his tone. Will has noticed himself feeling more and more convinced, so it comes as no surprise. Hannibal must know that the more he taunts Will with the closeness he won’t give him, the more fixated Will has become on earning it. He feeds Will information much less generously than he does food, but revels just as much in asking Will to say what he thinks of it.   
  
“I’m hoping you’ll find what we have to offer enticing,” Hannibal says as he takes a few steps forward. “Family values may have declined over the last century but we still help our families when we can. You can be family too, Will.”  
  
Will frowns. His dad is in Louisiana. They talk every so often. Will talks about school. His dad talks about work. They talk about fishing together. It may not be _comprehensive_ , but there’s a lot about it that’s easy. “I’ve had a family.”  
  
Hannibal cups Will’s cheek in his hand and with a gentle pull brings Will in closer until their bodies are not quite touching, but close enough. The farthest curve of Will’s belly hovers just shy of Hannibal’s hip and Will tips his face upwards to wait for a kiss. The Alpha _almost_ smiles. “Not like mine.”  
  
Will studies the slightest shifts in Hannibal’s expression, but so much is still unknown. “I talked to Antony about you,” he informs him.  
  
Hannibal’s eyes might start to alight from within and he says, “I thought you might.”  
  
“He told me your family has traditions,” Will says. “He wouldn’t tell me what they were.”  
  
Hannibal’s fingers drag back to tangle themselves in Will’s hair and as they catch, it sends shivers down Will’s spine. “He cannot tell you what he doesn’t know,” Hannibal observes.  
  
“Just how weird are these traditions?” Will asks with a sigh and he closes the sliver of a gap between them and presses himself as close as he can get.  
  
“A belief would not be considered _weird_ if it’s accepted as ordinary by others in a person’s culture or subculture,” Hannibal says as he tucks his mouth close to Will’s ear. “Or family.”  
  
The gust of air that comes from between Will’s teeth could be a laugh. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”  
  
“You’ve encountered beliefs that have been _normal_ but unkind,” Hannibal reasons as his other hand finds its place at the side of Will’s belly where the last remaining pup kicks. “What would happen if you were to consider _weird_ as an alternative?”  
  
When Hannibal kisses him, Will can _feel_ Hannibal’s pleasure and taste it on his tongue like one of Hannibal’s masterpieces. It’s a honey that’s subtle in its sweetness and tempts indulgence. Will wants to throw himself in head-first and drink it in like nectar just to taste as much as he can. Will drifts his hands from Hannibal’s hip to his middle, ready to turn his fingers along the leather of his belt and around his belt buckle.  
  
He almost whines when Hannibal takes his hands away and nudges away Will’s too. As much as Hannibal might seem to be courting him, he has kept them rather restrained. They still touch and make use of their hands and their mouths, but Hannibal always leaves Will with the feeling that they both want more than they were allowed. In the dead of night, Will thinks Hannibal might make him _want_ so badly that it itches under his skin until his nails feel sharp as claws. Will has never had someone make him work so hard just to be pleased. Most were happy to take their pleasure and go – as little work as possible, as much pleasure as possible. That has worked well for Will all these years.  
  
Hannibal’s hands don’t push him away, not entirely. They guide him to his nest and ease him down into it. Will follows where he’s led and watches Hannibal as he goes. He keeps his eyes on the Alpha as Will’s pants are peeled away instead and his underwear along with them. Will lifts his hips as much as he can with a heavy weight settled in between them and his thump back against the mattress is clumsier than he intended. He braces a hand against his belly as the pup gives a kick in protest of being jostled – _spoiled with too much room_.   
  
Hannibal put his hands to Will’s thighs first and gently spreads them open and wide. Will flushes as he can feel his cock start to twitch and slick drip from his pussy. Hannibal touches his fingers along the length of his cock and rubs his thumb along the head and Will hisses with how it stings with pleasure. His heels try to dig into the nest to help the buck of his hips but it’s no use.  
  
Will’s knees shake in midair and his thighs tremble as he delights in Hannibal’s attentions. The Alpha knows exactly how to touch him. Will knows Hannibal is a quick study and has made as much a study of Will as Will has of him. There’s no hesitation as Hannibal makes use of his tongue as he licks along Will’s cock and pushes slickened fingers into his hole instead. Will knows Hannibal might have one of the best minds there is. To have Hannibal devote space to him is something Will might identify as devotion, but he hasn’t felt it enough before to be sure.  
  
Hannibal hums when he takes his cock into his mouth. The vibrations make Will whimper shake in his chest and Hannibal hums louder to reward him. Will’s fingers clench in pleasure, forming a tight, unforgiving fist around a handful of his shirt and pulling it _tight_. Will’s muscles clench as Hannibal strokes, licks, and sucks and Will’s arm twitches in a yank that has his shirt bunching up at his chest. Will’s belly is there and bare for all to see as it rises between his thighs and blocks Hannibal from view.  
  
Will moans with the want for Hannibal to put a pup in him. His pussy clenches around Hannibal’s fingers, desperate for Hannibal’s cock instead. Hannibal’s fingers are _wonderful_ , but nothing like a knot and no matter how much he squeezes, they won’t spill and fill him. Hannibal has seemed happier as Will has been emptier and that’s helped to make it more bearable. It’s been that at the knowledge that he will be bread again _someday_. He will feel full again _and_ Hannibal might be happier than Will has ever seen him.  
  
Even as Will’s pussy clenches, Hannibal pushes in another finger and then one more. With the tuck of his thumb into his palm, Will feels the unforgiving bumps of his knuckles press at his hole. Will spreads his legs open wider and releases a shuttering breath from his chest as he welcomes Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal pushes in and curls his fingers back into a fist that sits heavy and unrelenting. The movement of his fist is slow and sure.  
  
He tilts his wrist and presses the tops of his knuckles against a spot that has Will gasping, while the pull of Hannibal’s mouth has him reflexively holding his breath. It makes Will dizzy and he can’t even _see_ Hannibal, but he feels Hannibal in the pull of his mouth and shift of his hand. There is the sizzle of his own pleasure at his nerves and the warmth of Hannibal’s pleasure heating his veins. He knows that for now this is exactly what Hannibal wants – that nothing would make him happier at that moment than Will losing himself completely in his pleasure.   
  
When Will comes, he feels _soaked_. He feels his pussy and thighs slippery with slick but his hole still wants more as it squeezes against Hannibal’s fist and down around his wrist. A shout catches wetly in his throat and his hair is damp with sweat. Hannibal still licks along Will’s cock as Will’s orgasm does its best to wring him dry and Will whimpers with the stimulation.  
  
“ _Hannibal_ ,” he begs.  
  
As Hannibal rises from between his legs, he rubs his thumb against his bottom lip. Will can see the hunger that lingers in his eyes as he simply says, “Dinner is waiting for us.”  
  
It’s another week before Will goes into labor again and when he does, tears trickle down his cheeks not from the pain but from the loss. He hasn’t been empty in _so long_. He’s had almost a year and a half of never being truly alone and carrying a companion with him wherever he was, no matter what he was doing. Now it won’t be that way and only Hannibal knows how long that will be for.  
  
But, Will wipes his tears away with rough fingers and chides himself for his whining. He shakes his head and refocuses on this one last birth. As he labors and his contractions grow worse and worse, he thinks instead about how Hannibal promises this will be the last of this kind – this is his last of giving them away. As his body opens itself from within and forces him to let go, he tells himself that this loss is the last loss he will have to feel. He powers his pushes with the reminder that he’ll empty because he’s _wanted_ — that’s what he _wanted_. Hannibal wants him when he’s empty and then he won’t have to feel empty ever again.  
  
After this last birth and after the pup has been handed away, Will stands in front of Hannibal sweaty, flushed, and disheveled and _ready_. Hannibal is still clean, styled, and perfect and, even though Will a mess, Hannibal looks _so pleased_ with him. It fills Will with a happy, bubbly feeling that sends the rest of him spilling over.  
  
Will tries to catch the sob behind his teeth but still hears the choked off whimper breaking through. His knees wobble and, as soon as Will thinks he might collapse, Hannibal catches him. Hannibal’s arms wrap around and embrace him. He leans into Hannibal’s chest and soaks the plaid with his tears. As Hannibal eases him into his nest, Will only grips harder to keep him from moving away, but Hannibal doesn’t even try to. He climbs into the nest gracefully and easily and holds Will closer. He makes a soft rumble in his throat that vibrates against Will’s cheek at his chest. His hand pets at Will’s hair and cradles the back of his head.  
  
“Do you know what an Imago is, Will?” Hannibal asks. His voice is as soft and tender as his touch.  
  
“No,” Will replies with a cough as his throat feels clogged with his tears. “Should I?”  
  
“I think it might be of interest to you,” Hannibal says. “It holds a special significance to my family.”  
  
Will nods and the damp of fabric tear-soaked fabric presses back against his cheek.  
  
“An Imago can be understood to have many meanings,” Hannibal explains. “In insects, it’s the last stage of a transformation; meanwhile, theorists on the mind debate between a subconscious ideal locked away deep inside or the way a person aligns with a collective unconscious.”  
  
Will furrows his brows and fiddles with one of the buttons on Hannibal’s shirt. “This is the belief you were talking about.”  
  
Hannibal kisses the top of Will’s sweaty hair. “In my family, we merge these many meanings together to form a whole,” he continues. “You are a _wonder_ , my dear. You are our ideal come to life and ready to be transformed. My brothers and I have been charged with traveling the world looking for someone like you and now that I’ve found you, we can all come home.”  
  
Will shudders as Hannibal’s fingers drift down to press along the gland at his neck. He lifts his head from Hannibal’s chest and looks into Hannibal’s eyes as they glimmer. “What is it you’re transforming me into?”  
  
Hannibal’s lips twitch in a smile.  
  
“Our broodmother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I maybe should say that when it comes to the term "broodmother" it's kind of something I just thought of and got attached to and I'm not familiar with how it might be used in other things (games, I think?), so there's no crossover in whatever meaning it has in other media. I'm just making stuff up, friends. 
> 
> \---
> 
> I'm on twitter: [transcryptidone](https://twitter.com/transcryptidone)
> 
> Come hang out with me on there if you want!


	4. Chapter 4

Will’s ears still ring as he looks out the little window. They popped shortly after take-off when Hannibal had him drink down some water, but the silence that exists beyond the roar of the engines and intermittent shifting of other passengers still has a _whine_.  
  
Outside the window, the world seems so small. Will’s never been on a plane before. When he moved into his dorm room, his dad drove him and his few belongings all the way from Louisiana. Now, Will has left all those belongings behind as he flies away in whatever class is fancy enough to have flight attendants offering him champagne. He hardly paid attention when the tray of little glasses came around, but knows that Hannibal took one.   
  
As clouds pass by down below, Will’s hand twitches and shakes and lands in a heavy thud against his middle. Hannibal takes hold of it and his grip is free of any tremor or hesitation as he brings the knuckles to his lips. Will shivers with the touch but settles slightly and Hannibal doesn’t have to say a thing.  
  
“Seems surreal,” Will says, not looking away from how the clouds are changing color with the setting of the sun. “Hard to believe that the world I see down there is the same one I left. The same one I’m going to.”  
  
Hannibal hums and shifts his body in his seat to lean in closer. He lowers Will’s hand from his lips and instead envelops and encases it between his two. “That which we are profoundly unfamiliar with can seem unreal.”  
  
Will huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says as he closes his eyes and feels the last of the day’s sun shining on his face. “It seems crazy.”  
  
“You worry too much,” Hannibal soothes. “You only need to do what you feel is best.”  
  
Hannibal’s scent is robust and swirls around Will like the wine he’d swirled in his glass back in his fancy home that now sits collecting dust. As the scent surrounds Will, it seems as though it’s been kept at just the right temperature and has only gotten better as it’s been left to wait. The waiting Hannibal has made Will do has made the Alpha’s scent _intoxicating_. That must be what explains how Will finds himself easier to convince and harder to know why he shouldn’t be.   
  
The worry that Hannibal so dislikes is there to remind Will as it beats again at his heart. Will closes the shade on the window and turns his face back towards Hannibal. Even though the Alpha’s lips sit relatively neutral, Will can still see the echo of the smile in his eyes. “Will it happen as soon as we get there?”  
  
“No,” Hannibal reassures him. Another swirl of his scent circles around Will as he hovers with his lips just out of reach. “You’ll meet my brothers to decide if we’re worthy of mating.”  
  
_If they’re worthy –_ the idea makes his head woozy and rattles him like turbulence. For Will, there’s never been a question of whether someone was worthy of the pleasure he gave them. He gave freely and received even without his partners intending to give. Regardless of whether anyone considered caring for him, he got what he needed so long as they got theirs. The idea of being _choosy_ …  
  
“Will you tell me more about them?” Will asks.  
  
All Hannibal has told him so far is that he’s one in a set of triplets and their tradition dictates that if Will mates with one, then he mates with all of them. Will’s gone from the possibility of having Hannibal for company to having two more somehow like him and somehow _not_.   
  
Of course, Hannibal only tips his head and makes his voice almost as soft as a whisper as he says, “It’s best if you make the determinations for yourself.”  
  
Will doesn’t scoff, not when they’re so close together. The sound and the huff of air would be too harsh. Hannibal wouldn’t flinch but Will would feel how he might want to. Instead, Will closes the distance between them. If Hannibal won’t be generous with words, then maybe he’ll be more generous with his touch. His mouth can provide satisfaction for them both in other ways. Will presses in like he wishes he could press into Hannibal’s mind. The glands at Will’s throat have shrunken slightly – _withered_ – with the absence of any pups, but still throb and ache for the edges of teeth.  
  
Just when their kiss risks lasting too long to be proper, the flight attendant returns to collect anything that remains and Hannibal pulls away. Will stifles a groan behind his knuckles as he leans his mouth against his closed fist and his elbow against the armrest. He uses his other hand to open the shade again to stare out at the dark night sky.  
  
Will must fall asleep but he hardly feels it when the lights are blinking on again and the plane is beginning its descent. He doesn’t know if Hannibal got any sleep but he looks just as put together as he always does while he helps Will stand on a foot that fell asleep and they shuffle their way off the plane.  
  
The sun has just started to rise again as they do the last leg of their journey by car. The drive is quiet and beautiful. The green of the grass and the leaves flashes by quickly with no chance for Will to take it all in. The roads have many twists and Hannibal turns into places Will might not have thought were roads. These little offshoots are hidden by bushes that could be overgrown, but as they drive through the branches only brush carefully against the windows.  
  
The car slows to a stop in front of an iron gate, decorated with two matching emblems and some sort of sculpture resting at the top. The gates swing open to greet them and beyond them is a spread of grass and forest punctuated by quaint buildings lorded over by a castle at the top of a hill. Hannibal drives them up to the top of that hill. As they draw towards the castle’s front entrance, it only seems larger and larger until it’s so vast that the sun peeks from in between two towers as if it has only just been given permission.  
  
Hannibal stops the car near the base of a grand set of stairs. As he turns the keys and the car’s rumble becomes silent, it becomes as clear as can be that this is their final destination. Will continues to stare at the looming castle while he hears the open and close of the door on Hannibal’s side followed by the unlatching and swinging of his own. Hannibal offers him a hand like Will might be escorted from a carriage and Will’s fingers fumble to unbuckle his seatbelt. He knows Hannibal is watching him as he steps out of the car. The only thing Will can offer him is his sense of wonder. Hannibal’s hand stays in Will’s, intertwining their fingers together as knuckles bump against each other.  
  
The front door grinds and clicks as the heavy wood and metal start to move. From within the castle emerges a singular person and for a moment Will is glad it’s not some sort of parade. Seen at first from a distance, he notices the woman has bright blonde hair with curls that stop just above her shoulders. Her hair hangs and flows around her face just as her dress hangs and flows around her body when she descends down the stairs. When she draws closer the flutter of fabric shows a curve at her middle that Will knows as well as anyone could and he feels a pang inside him with the want and the envy.  
  
Her descent down the stairs is careful but quick and she nearly flies into Hannibal’s arms as he catches her, dropping Will’s hand in the process. Hannibal hugs her close for a solid moment and she tucks her chin over his shoulder. Hannibal’s hand is gentle as he cradled the back of her head in his palm while they hug and he holds her cheeks between his hands for a moment longer after they pull apart.  
  
“ _Mylima_ ,” Hannibal says.  
  
“Welcome home, brother,” the woman says and her voice is sure and deep. Her eyes are wide open and unabashedly affectionate as she looks up at Hannibal.   
  
“Mischa,” Hannibal greets and, with the turn of his head and tip of his hand, directs her deep blue eyes towards Will. “This Will.”  
  
As she looks at him, Will is able to see her more clearly. She has a softer, rounder nose than Hannibal and the same can be said about her chin and jaw, but Will can see the similarity in the shape of their faces and how nicely their features arrange themselves in the space. If Will saw the two of them together by happenstance, he might not immediately guess they were siblings, but he knows from his time with Hannibal that he wouldn’t treat just anyone with this much fondness.   
  
“Hello, Will,” she greets as she takes up Will’s hand that Hannibal dropped and Hannibal’s hand settles at the top of Will’s spine instead. “I’m so glad you’ve been found. My brothers have been away from home for far too long.”  
  
Her gladness radiates off of her and warms him. It’s as orange as the color of her dress – deep and vibrant and rustic. He doesn’t have to see her smile to feel it, but her grin proves very nearly contagious. His answering smile is more lopsided and awkward but she doesn’t falter.  
  
Hannibal’s thumb brushes against the nape of Will’s neck and almost around to the side as he says to his sister, “If you would please show Will around, I would be very grateful.”  
  
“Of course,” she agrees as she still squeezes Will’s hand in hers.  
  
Hannibal raises a brow and tips his chin down as he looks at her. “If you let me make the introductions to our brothers, I would be grateful for that too.”  
  
Mischa tsks her tongue but doesn’t look too upset. She quirks her lips as her smile becomes teasing. “ _Fine_ ,” she agrees with an exaggerated sigh.  
  
As Mischa guides Will up the stairs by the hand, Hannibal stays behind. When Will looks back at him, Hannibal’s unloading the few bags they brought from the trunk. Will wishes Hannibal would have stayed with him. There’s too much strange about this place to go wandering without someone he knows. But when Hannibal’s eyes flick up towards him, the look Will finds there tells him to go.  
  
Beyond the castle’s front door lies a buzz of people, who all continue their work with only a quick pause to look at him and a few stolen glances as he and Mischa walk through the hustle and bustle.  
  
“Many of us live here in the castle, but some choose to live closer to where they work,” Mischa explains. “Chiyoh is down by the woods where she hunts. For Eldon, anywhere is too far away from his mushrooms. The Vergers live on their farm.”  
  
Mischa mentions names but never gestures or so much as nods towards anyone that surrounds them, which leaves Will no hope for putting faces to names. The people who walk past seem to mostly be Betas – like Mischa, Will notices – and there are only one or two older Alphas milling around. Mischa’s age seems to be somewhere in between Will and Hannibal’s, which might land her in her mid-20’s if Will had to guess.  
  
She waves to a couple of people as they walk by and when her hand falls, it lands on the chain of her necklace and trails down along the links to touch at the pendant that hangs at the center of her chest. It’s clear and circular with a firefly set inside it. He wonders how they managed to preserve the glow, but the bright yellow-green shines through loud and clear.  
  
“I like your necklace,” Will says.  
  
“Oh! I caught her when I was just a child, captured her between my two hands,” she describes as she cups her hands together around her pendent for Will to see. “She glowed so bright I could see the light between my fingers and when I opened my hands, she didn’t fly away. Hannibal said that because she chose me, she should stay here by my heart forever.”  
  
“Did Hannibal make it?”  
  
“I made it,” Mischa says with a soft, proud smile. When she opens her palms again and lets the pendant fall back against her chest above her heart, he thinks it might glow brighter. “I make everything that’s ceremonial. I think you’ll like what I make for you, if I do say so myself.”  
  
Will thinks he might remind her that he hasn’t officially decided to do anything _ceremonial_. But even if there was a point to trying to argue, they are interrupted by an older Omega woman appearing in front of them with a teacup held up towards him. The steam rises from the cup towards the woman’s smiling face. Her grin seems exaggerated somehow and her eyes seem far away.  
  
“Would you like some tea?” she offers.  
  
Will looks back at Mischa, whose eyebrow lifts with slight annoyance but not concern. “Sure,” Will agrees. The older woman nods at him as he takes a sip and her gray, frazzled hair shakes with her. “Seems like everyone has their hopes up,” he observes.  
  
“Everyone is excited,” Mischa says. “It’s been far too long since we’ve had a broodmother.”  
  
“How long has it been?” he asks as he takes another sip. The tea is sweet and too hot for a summer day, but the warmth it brings to his veins and his belly is still welcomed.  
  
Mischa fiddles again with her necklace. She ducks her head to look at the pendant as she twists it between her fingers. “Our last broodmother was taken from us when my brothers were young.”  
  
Will coughs as he swallows a bit of the tea the wrong way. “Taken?”  
  
“Like a queen bee stolen from her hive,” the older woman says with a sense of awe.   
  
Mischa’s wide eyes cut sharp in an instant and she drops her necklace from her fingers. “ _Katherine_ ,” she says. Her tone isn’t as sharp but it’s still cutting. The older woman nods in a shakier sort of way before she walks away, but otherwise, she seems fine with going and Will and Mischa carry on walking too.  
  
They climb another staircase to an upper floor and the higher they go and further they walk the fewer people there are until it’s just the two of them in front of one last huge door. Mischa stops in front of it and turns towards him as she smooths her hands over the light, airy fabric of her dress with its intricate pattern of many little holes lined up in shapes that might be like honeycombs.  
  
“These are the broodmother’s quarters and down the hall are the rooms for the mates,” she explains. “No one is allowed in without permission, so it hasn’t been opened in many years. When we have your permission, we will have it prepared however you like.”  
  
Will looks at her hesitantly but when she only looks back at him with eyes that have gone bright and wide again, he settles his hand against the heavy metal of the doorknob and turns it. It’s a bit stuck, so he has to turn it harder than he expected and when it opens, it creaks.  
  
“Maybe a good oiling first,” he jokes as he turns back towards her.  
  
She laughs as she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll send someone right away.”  
  
“There’s no rush,” he assures her quickly. “I’m used to a rust bucket anyway.”  
  
“We’re happy to do it, Will,” she reminds him as she raises the arch of a brow. “You’ll have to get used to people wanting to do things for you.”  
  
Will laughs, maybe at his own expense. “I’ll try.”  
  
“I’m going to close the door behind you,” she tells him, _soothes_ him. “Take your time.”  
  
Will nods, turns back towards the open room and takes another step forward. When the door creaks again as it swings closed, he closes his eyes to stop taking it all in just for a moment. His head swims with all that there has been to notice and pay attention to. Even when it’s dark behind his eyelids, the room smells like dust and stale air as he breaths in deeply through his nose and into his chest. He holds his breath until he feels the pound of his heart and opens his eyes as he breaths out again.   
  
The walls are lined with bookcases. There’s a desk in the corner and a table by the wall – all wood. The chairs are wooden, except for a few wingbacks, and so is the floor. The aligning of the boards and the grain lead his eyes back to a big open space by a large window that spans nearly from the ceiling to the floor. Will can tell that that space is meant to be filled. There are couches off to the side when they could be arranged there in the middle. There are lamps around the room left unlit, not needed with how the sun pours in from the window, but there and ready.  
  
There are paintings on the walls and tapestries hanging. They depict the woods and the nature to be found therein – fireflies, owls, sleeping wolves, and a stag. The biggest tapestry of all depicts a person with limbs folded in as if within a cocoon and wings like a dragonfly that emerge from their back. It’s dusty when he touches it, but it still feels as soft as silk. As he shakes the tapestry carefully just to rid it of some dust, he notices a space in the wall behind it with more bound books. He runs his fingers along the bridge of one of the books and pulls it from the little nook away from the rest.   
  
He brushes his hand against the seat of a chair and the top of the desk to clear the dust as he sits to thumb through the pages. The handwriting is clear and legible but not without flair as he reads: _As Alphas evolve to control, Omegas evolve to resist._ Will thumbs to another page and reads further: _Alphas who spread their bounty too far and wide are less successful by all measures than those who are loyal. Meanwhile, the more a broodmother mates, the more likely they will be to avert disaster. In reward for loyalty to their one broodmother, the mates have their greatest wants fulfilled.  
_  
Will only has the time to read a few sentences on a few different pages before a knock comes at the door. Will knows from the sound of it that Hannibal is at the other side – quick, precise raps against the wood. He closes the book and puts it back in its proper place and makes sure the tapestry is back where it should be before he calls out, “Come in.”  
  
As expected, Hannibal is at the other side and walks in first, followed by the two Alphas who could only be his brothers. The three of them are identical aside from the very few things that make them different. One brother is cleanshaven like Hannibal, but his hair is longer and less restrained. It hangs down around his face and his bangs rest in a swoop across his forehead with a casualness matched by his clothes. His shirt and his pants are much simpler than Hannibal’s – each one layer, one color while Hannibal still wears his suit, vest, and tie. The third brother is then different in his own ways from the first two. He has a mustache that’s dark and stands out from his lighter stubble. His clothes are simple but dark, just like his hair.   
  
“These are my brothers,” Hannibal introduces after Will’s had his chance to look. “Nigel,” he says and the smirking, casual brother with the tattoo of a woman on his neck nods in acknowledgment. “And Duncan,” Hannibal continues as the remaining brother nods quietly, _efficiently_.  
  
It’s strange to look at these three Alphas and have them look back at him and feel something so different from anything Will’s ever felt before. He’s known the glint in Nigel’s eyes and solemnity in Duncan’s but these aren’t simple flings. These could be his mates. Will didn’t happen upon them in a classroom. They sought him out and he was brought here to them. He’s not seeing in their eyes what they want for just a brief moment – the easy pleasure that covers up the absence of what’s _really_ wanted – he’s seeing the call for him to _know_ them and make sure they get what they want down to the deepest parts of their minds.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you,” Will says because he’s not sure what else he _could_ say in a situation like this.  
  
Hannibal smiles when he looks at him and Will wonders if that is ever a look he will get used to seeing. Even though Nigel’s been smirking since he first walked in, it’s not the same. It’s not meant to be. One brother’s smile doesn’t take the place of another’s and Will might have them all.  
  
“Who would like to go first?” Hannibal asks, looking between his two counterparts.   
  
Duncan grunts quietly and shrugs.  
  
“I guess it’s me then,” Nigel says and he hardly seems disappointed. Will can see the corners of his teeth as he talks out of the side of his mouth. “I’ll just take a minute.”  
  
Hannibal nods and so does Duncan and, to Will’s surprise, all three leave him standing alone in the center of a room that’s missing a big piece. Even though Will is expecting him, Nigel knocks at the door when he returns quickly. Though by the loud, brash sound of the knocking, he’s impatient with the courtesy and he bursts in as soon as Will lets him. He pushes the door open and closed as quickly as he can with a hastily wrapped package in one hand.  
  
There’s no hesitation as Nigel approaches him. He gets up-close and personal in no time. The scent of him washes over Will like a hurricane – thunder, lightning, fire, and smoke. He is a force of nature and Will knows nature never apologizes.  
  
Nigel holds the package – the _gift_ – out for Will to take. “I brought this back for you.”  
  
Will takes the gift and unwraps it. The tape comes away easily and the box opens without too much effort. Inside is a quilt – sturdy and heavy and colorful. It seems to have every color in the rainbow in a combination of different squares with loud patterns that somehow still all come together with just the right amount of competition.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Will says as he runs his fingers over some of the swirling stitching. “Where did looking for me take you?”  
  
“Romania,” Nigel answers.  
  
Will hums. “What did you find there?”  
  
“Not much to show for the time and effort,” Nigel states with a bite of anger. His brows furrow as he crosses his arms against his chest and shows the strength in his biceps. His scent like smoke starts to speak more to a flame.  
  
“You wish you would have found the next broodmother,” Will observes and Nigel huffs a laugh, but it only has half the humor it should. “Are you disappointed in yourself or disappointed it’s me?”  
  
Nigel’s face softens so quickly it could only be from instinct. There’s no hesitation, second thought, or time to consider ego. He takes the box with the blanket from Will’s hands and drops it with a thud on a table. The force of the drop casts off another layer of dust. Will barely has his hands empty for an instant before Nigel grabs at him. He moves in a flash to pull Will against his body.  
  
“No, gorgeous,” Nigel says. His lips turn back into a smirk as he remembers himself. He brushes his thumb against Will’s bottom lip, pulling it down so that it can pop up again when it’s let go. “An ass like yours, such cock-sucking lips, and if Hannibal can stand you for this long, then you must have a good brain in your pretty little head. No one who’s got any fucking sense could be disappointed with you.”  
  
Will leans up as Nigel leans down and they meet in the middle. Nigel kisses _hard_ and it turns fierce as quickly as Will’s eyes slide closed. Nigel’s arms bring him closer and tighter to nearly crush him close and Will does his best to meet him as much as he’s pinned. Nigel hardly lets him breathe and all Will can do in between kisses is heave in air laced with the power of Nigel’s scent. Nigel kisses and kisses him until Will’s head spins and he thinks he might pass out any second and only then does the Alpha break away and kiss across his cheek and down his jaw.  
  
It’s all _so much_ with so little _restraint_. Where Hannibal has kept him at arm’s length and given him controlled doses of closeness and pleasure, Nigel administers a drug potent and powerful enough to nearly stop his heart – almost, but _not quite_.  
  
“Gorgeous,” Nigel whispers, a raw, coarse rasp. “So _fucking_ gorgeous. Such a pretty thing I get to call mine.”  
  
Will gasps and pants to catch his breath as Nigel licks across the gland at his neck and gropes a hand at Will’s ass. The tapestry hangs behind Nigel’s shoulder. It twists and blurs in front of his eyes. “I’m only yours if I let you,” he remembers, just barely. “What happens if I say yes?”  
  
Nigel’s huff of a laugh casts air across Will’s skin – damp and sensitive with sweat and the possessive lick of Nigel’s tongue. “You’ll have to say yes and find out, won’t you, you little tease?”  
  
“I’m not a tease,” Will says with his own laugh. “Couldn’t be further from it.”  
  
The hand at his ass grips harder and Will can feel how much Nigel wants him to feel his teeth, but wouldn’t dare risk even the tip of an edge. The temptation is too strong and the unapologetic possessiveness in Nigel’s touch tells Will that he’s inexperienced in keeping himself from doing whatever he wants.  
  
“You are when you’re looking like this and we’re supposed to wait,” Nigel groans right into his ear, and Will _whines_.  
  
Nigel peels himself away enough to press a hand in between them against where Will’s hard and aching. Will leaks slick and moans as Nigel rubs his hand harshly against Will’s cock through his pants.  
  
“Do you need me to fuck you? If you get yourself all wet and bothered, Hannibal will smell it on you when he comes to fetch you,” Nigel reminds him, a warning and an encouragement. “Though he must already know what a desperate, needy little thing you are. Or did you tease him, too?”  
  
Will sighs and whimpers as Nigel’s words manage to make his touch all the more unforgiving. “Hannibal wouldn’t let me do it.”  
  
Nigel scoffs. “Hannibal always has a certain way he wants things done.”  
  
Will rubs himself back against Nigel’s touch. He wants more. He still does. His time with Hannibal has shown him abundance and made him want _more_. “He was doing it for you,” Will says with a sigh.  
  
Nigel halts his hand and slides his fingers back behind Will’s cock to press at the damp that’s sure to have soaked through his underwear, but might not have conquered the crotch of his jeans yet. “Do you want to come or not?”  
  
Will has been with Alphas like Nigel before. They go hard and fast and when it’s over they want more and never think to do anything that might offer anything different. Will would let his mouth be used by boys like this in the back of the library. He would do it over and over just to make them happy and never pushed them to want anything more. Whenever they got girlfriends or boyfriends, Will might still see those boys for another time or two, but at the end of the day, they would always leave Will behind.   
  
_As Alphas evolve to control, Omegas evolve to resist._  
  
“You act like you want an obedient little thing, but you don’t, do you? That would be no fun for you,” Will says as he pushes back against Nigel’s chest – not pushing him away or even creating much distance, but adding some push to Nigel’s _pull_. He tips his lips towards Nigel’s but doesn’t kiss him. He blinks his eyes up at Nigel as he says, “You can be in charge, but you’ll have to earn it.”  
  
Nigel’s smile shows all of his sharp, jagged teeth then he licks his lip and catches it between his teeth. “The total package,” Nigel observes and the praise sends shivers of _rightness_ traveling Will’s spine.  
  
“Will you be able to share?” Will asks. “In all this time looking, did you learn that sharing means you can have _everything_?”  
  
“You’ll give me everything,” Nigel answers. “I know you will.”  
  
“I’ll give you _exactly_ what you want,” he replies.  
  
The next knock on the door is heavy and staccato – one, a pause, and then another. As consumed as Nigel and Will are with each other, it’s entirely possible they missed a few before they finally noticed. Will feels colder as they part. He misses Nigel’s body heat already and his sweat cools him too quickly. His cock still throbs within the confines of his pants and even shifting on his feet creates friction that has his pussy clenching and toes flexing.  
  
Will matches Nigel’s smirk when he sees the outline of Nigel’s cock bulging in his pants. “Your turn is over,” Will tells him. He keeps his tone flirtatious, teasing, and kind. “Save whatever you’re thinking for later.”  
  
“The clock’s ticking,” Nigel replies but he leaves without any other argument.  
  
Will calls for Duncan to enter and Nigel breezes by on his way out. Duncan carries with him his own present, plainly wrapped. It’s quite large but fits easily tucked under his arm. “I brought you something,” he says as he sets the present next to Nigel’s on the table by Will and steps back to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs.  
  
“I see that,” Will says. He touches the bow that’s stuck to the top and tucks his finger into one of the loops. “Will you tell me what it is?”  
  
Duncan’s expression is neutral and unchanging as he simply instructs, “Open it.”  
  
“I’m not going to get many secrets out of you either, am I?” Will observes as he turns his fingers to tearing away the wrapping paper. “What is it about you three that makes you want to keep things to yourselves? If it’s genetic, I might be in for a lifetime of it.”  
  
Duncan hums, a deep rumbling sound. “Hannibal has things he wants said and not said.”  
  
Will looks at Duncan and sees how he fills the chair he’s occupying. There is a resignation in his pose, but his body holds power no matter what. “Is that what you want?”  
  
Duncan gives a stiff shrug of his shoulders as Will lifts the lid from the box. Will pulls out another blanket – a fur one this time in shades of white, gray, and brown. As he touches the fur, Will can’t imagine there could be anything any softer.  
  
“It’s _amazing_ , Duncan,” Will admires. “Thank you.”  
  
Duncan’s lips turn up in a small, little smile. It’s hard-earned like Hannibal’s but softer. It’s a cherished secret but not one kept completely on purpose, not anymore. It’s a habit he can’t break. Will knows something about habits and being broken.   
  
Will leaves Duncan’s blanket beside his brother’s and crosses the room and sits on Duncan’s lap. He anchors his hands at Duncan’s shoulders and seats himself down onto the tops of the Alpha’s thighs. Duncan’s scent is tinged with cigarette smoke but underneath there is the smell of meat cooked over a well-tended-to campfire and the burning bitterness of coffee spiked with whiskey.  
  
“Where did you go looking for me?” Will asks.  
  
“Everywhere,” Duncan answers as he settles his hands at Will’s hips. His long, strong fingers span wide enough to touch his ass, but he’s not demanding or greedy as Nigel had been. Will was never at any risk of falling but it does make him feel more secure.   
  
“Name the places,” he says, not quite a demand but if it qualifies as a request, it’s a strong one.  
  
Duncan’s chuckle is gruff. “That could take a while.”  
  
Will tilts his head and moves his hands from Duncan’s shoulders to either side of his jaw. He scratches his thumb against the grain of the stubble on Duncan’s cheeks. “How many are there?”  
  
“Ninety-nine,” Duncan says and though the words are simple and the tone is neutral, the meaning carries such devotion that Will nearly purrs with pleasure. To think that Duncan might travel to _just shy_ of one hundred countries and always have his eye out for someone like Will – for someone that _is_ Will – when Will may never have felt looked for or looked at with such affection in his life.  
  
He presses that affection with a kiss against Duncan’s sharp cheekbone. “What did you do while you were looking?”  
  
Duncan’s cheek flinches against Will’s lips and his fingers tighten against his ass. “Hannibal might not like you knowing that either.” ~~  
  
~~Will lifts his brows as he pulls back to look Duncan in the eye. “You’re going to be my mate, aren’t you?”  
  
“That depends.”  
  
“On what I have to say, not Hannibal,” Will agrees with a slight smile.   
  
Duncan grunts and gives his answer: “Funeral business.”  
  
It’s a half-truth, Will knows, but he can appreciate how it’s a halfway point between Duncan’s loyalty to Hannibal and his loyalty to Will, which can be enough for now. He’ll get the truth out of Duncan someday. That doesn’t seem to be what matters most in this moment.  
  
“What are you going to do now that you’re home?” Will asks, because that’s the honesty that counts.  
  
Duncan’s hands spread wide as they drag down around the outsides of his thighs. He grips hard enough that his fingers create divots in their wake and Will’s knees squeeze tighter around his hips.  
  
“Take care of you,” Duncan states. “That’s my job now.”  
  
Will’s eyes nearly water with how he feels Duncan’s aches and pains and his breath catches in his chest as he imagines how satisfying it will be to ease them. To bring Duncan happiness will be so _sweet_. It will be hot chocolate on a snowy day and the warmth shared huddled under blankets – things Will has only really seen in movies. He can think of no one better to share it with than Duncan.  
  
“You take care of me. I take care of you,” Will agrees. “Even-steven.”  
  
When Will kisses Duncan, it couldn’t have felt more different from how it had felt with Nigel. The kiss is soft and lingering. There’s no rush, only the simple pleasure of taking one’s time. Will draws Duncan closer even as the Alpha’s mustache and stubble scrape at him. Will could rub himself raw on that stubble and be happy for how it stung.  
  
“I’m going to make you happy,” Will promises as he breaks away for a moment. “Happier than you’ve ever been. Happier than you’ve ever _imagined_ you could be.”  
  
Duncan’s hands slide back up to cross against Will’s back. His fingers curl around Will’s shoulder and take hold at the dip above either side of his clavicle. Will feels held in a great mighty hold and lets himself be held in such power. He only leans deeper into it. He falls into the seemingly endless abyss that is Duncan’s demeanor in search of the happiness Will knows is there for him to find. He finds a little shimmer of it like the reflection on an oil slick and Will grinds his still-hard cock against the bulge of Duncan’s as it hardens.  
  
“ _That’s it_ ,” Will moans. “You feel it already, don’t you?”  
  
Duncan’s voice rumbles through Will’s chest as he rasps, “I do.”  
  
They are only given the time to kiss for a little longer before Hannibal comes knocking again. Will is as disappointed to see Duncan go as he was Nigel, but while Nigel is a roaring fire that leaves behind cold in its absence, Duncan’s fledgling ember creates less of a vacuum in its wake. Hannibal is the well-stoked fire behind the grate.  
  
When Will allows him to enter, Hannibal brings with him his own gift. All his others were packed away with the rest of Will’s meager belongings in the lavish home the Alpha left vacant. This gift is brand new – _for their new life together._ Will’s fingers are more careful with the precise wrapping. It seems like the polite thing to do when it was wrapped with such care. By now, Will knows to expect a blanket, but Hannibal still manages to impress him and exceed expectations.  
  
Hannibal’s blanket is _gorgeous_. It’s a paisley pattern not unlike Hannibal’s ties. Deep reds, maroons, and subdued oranges swirl together to create something luxurious and comforting. It’s soft like Duncan’s but not from strands of fur but the finest fibers woven together. He pets his fingers over the fabric as he looks back at Hannibal and sees him clearer than ever.  
  
Without the thoughts of being constrained to just the two of them or having to live life with only Hannibal’s hard-won pleasure to beg and plead for, he can see Hannibal now and appreciate the clever, creative mind that he possesses. Will and Nigel can feed each other’s need for instant gratification and longing for _fun_. Duncan can offer Will the opportunity to bring happiness to someone who views happiness like an agnostic might view God. The two of them will make it easier for Will to search for Hannibal’s greatest want without tearing himself apart before it’s fulfilled.  
  
Will sets aside the blanket with its two brothers and steps close to Hannibal to touch his fingers at his paisley tie.  
  
“What is your verdict?” Hannibal asks and his eyes shine as he looks down at Will.  
  
“I’ll do it,” Will agrees and yanks at the knot at Hannibal’s throat to pull him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are all together! Finally!! Let the Rare Meat commence! 
> 
> I'll be honest. I'm really surprised with myself in how I've been able to crank out fic recently. Here's hoping I can keep the momentum going...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag reminder: There is a “minimal incest” tag because the brothers all have sex with Will at the same time so there is some sexual contact between them as this happens, but the focus is on Will and their interaction with him.

The dining table is long and wide and covered from end to end with food the likes of which Will has never seen before – or never before Hannibal came into his life – and the many empty plates ready to receive it. There’s cheese and honey, rabbit and mushrooms, roasted pheasants, and whole suckling pigs. Everyone who can drink wine has it and those who are too young or would prefer something else has whatever they need. Hannibal makes sure that Will’s plate and his glass are one of the first to be filled. He gives him a little bit of everything and makes sure it’s arranged beautifully on the plate into one beautiful creation rather than a cookout mishmash like Will would have had back home in Louisiana.  
  
He and Hannibal are positioned at the center of the long, rectangular table. Hannibal sits to Will’s left, while Duncan sits to his right and Nigel sits directly across from him. When they approached the table, Will wasn’t sure if he was supposed to choose who went where or _how_ he would even go about doing that. Luckily, one look at Hannibal had him playing the ever-gracious host and guiding people to their seats with open sweeps of his hands. Will could see Nigel’s sneer at being put somewhere other than Will’s side, but Will extends his foot out under the table to let the Alpha capture it between two of his and Nigel seems contented for a moment.  
  
“Is this how it is all the time or is this something special?” Will asks as he takes hold of Duncan’s solid, heavy hand and he encourages the Alpha to grip again at his thigh.  
  
“Both,” Hannibal answers, providing a suitably moderate amount of information as always.  
  
Nigel laughs softly from the other end of the table. “We don’t need a special occasion to throw a party,” he says. “But this does have a special little something to lead up to the main event.”  
  
Will nods. “After dinner is when it happens then?”  
  
Hannibal hums as he takes a drink of his wine. “Unless you see a reason to wait.”  
  
Will looks between him; Nigel, who smirks; and Duncan, whose hand is so _still_ against his leg. He smiles at all three of them and picks up his own glass of wine. It might be the last he has for a while. “No,” he says. “There’s no reason to wait.”  
  
“The rest of the preparations will happen as soon as dinner is over,” Hannibal tells him, looking pleased. Will can see it in the slightest shifts in his expression, more an instinct than something he can identify outright. “You’ll choose who helps you.”  
  
“How am I supposed to choose?” Will asks as his eyes scan the huge table filled with strangers. His eyes land on Duncan last, but he just shifts his shoulders in a move too nonchalant to even be a shrug.  
  
“There is preference and strategy,” Hannibal states as he gives his wine another swirl.  
  
“You expect me to be _political,_ ” Will says with a scoff. Will barely feels like an _adult_ and certainly doesn’t feel old enough to be a _politician_. He can read people just fine to help them get their pleasure and their happiness, but the complexity of strategizing is one he’s tried to avoid so far. He’s best at socializing when he doesn’t actually have to be very _sociable_.  
  
“The council has been functioning without you for a long time,” Hannibal informs him. “There will be an adjustment period. The only thing to be done is to make it to the other side.”  
  
“Who’s on it?” Will asks.  
  
“The council is currently comprised of representatives from each of the major areas: medicine, food, infrastructure, education, tradition, and protection,” Hannibal explains.   
  
There’s a thud in Will’s chest as he hears the last of Hannibal’s list. “Protection?”  
  
“A simple precaution,” Hannibal says, the latest in a long line of half-answers, Will knows.  
  
He wants to ask. The desire to _know_ stings at the back of his eyes, but he’s not so lacking in grace that he would ask his soon-to-be mates to discuss their disappeared mother at the dinner table in plain view of everyone. He knows asking and answering will be hard enough when alone.  
  
Duncan leans his body in closer as he sets aside his fork. His gaze is steady and his voice is strong as he says, “Nothing will happen to you.”  
  
“Any _runty cunt_ that might try anything wouldn’t stand a chance,” Nigel adds and there’s no argument to be had about it.  
  
Will smiles at Nigel and then Duncan and then Hannibal. “I still don’t know how to choose people to help,” he continues. “Can’t you help me with that part at least?”  
  
Hannibal hums and suggests, “You could let Mischa decide as a representative of tradition.”  
  
Will looks at Mischa, who sits at Hannibal’s other side and chats to a man who was introduced to Will just before dinner as her husband – _Randall_ , he remembers her saying. The Beta man seems quiet. He simply nods his head and eats as Mischa carries on most of the conversation herself. With the steady murmur of many voices, Will can’t hear what is said and his own conversation has thankfully not had too much opportunity to be overheard.  
  
Only a few people around the table seem to lack subtlety in how they give him attention. One of those few _would_ _be_ subtle if the man next to her didn’t make everything so over the top and obvious. His hands are rough as he grabs at the braid at the back of her neck and pulls her head closer to him as he murmurs into her ear. Meanwhile, it’s not a lack of subtlety that has Will noticing that the Alpha woman at the end of the table has been studying him since before he sat down. He can see in her eyes that she wants him to know.  
  
Will looks back at Hannibal as the Alpha turns away and leans over to whisper in his sister’s ear. Mischa looks over at Will and nods before blinking away towards a Beta woman with long brown hair seated next to the Alpha woman who keeps _looking_ at him. It seems as soon as Mischa has caught the woman’s attention, she’s looking away towards the woman having her braid manhandled. She and Mischa share another look and the woman says something to the man next to her, which is apparently what it takes for her braid to be left alone so that she can eat in peace.  
  
After dinner, Will watches as blankets, pillows, and a _truly massive_ cushion even bigger than a king bed are moved into his space. He has to allow them in and, as he does, feels awe at how the room already does feel like _his_. As much as he tries to focus on the words being spoken to him, his eyes keep flitting back to watch over belongings that just only recently became his.   
  
“I’m Alana, one of the doctors,” says one of two women Mischa brought with her, the one with the long brown hair in beautiful, elegant curls. She looks at him with a certain kind of curiosity. It’s the kind that might come from caring, but he isn’t quite sure. She turns to the woman who stands more stiffly next to her and explains, “Margot is one of the twins in charge of the farm.”  
  
Margot scoffs and averts her eyes. “That’s a generous way to put it.”  
  
“It’s _true_ ,” Alana insists.  
  
Will can tell it’s an argument that’s been had before and he has nothing to say to it. He just watches more pillows pile up and his eyes flick down to where Mischa takes another measurement. She’s measured around his head, neck, chest, arms, and hips and wrote each measurement in a journal. She’s already slipped little silver rings on each of his fingers and slipped them off again to keep on a separate chain that she wears on her wrist like a bracelet. He looks back and a pair of hands reach towards the blankets left on the table.  
  
“ _Don’t,”_ Will snaps and then he catches himself and winces. He blinks his eyes nervously and licks his lips and tries again: “ _Please_ don’t touch those.”  
  
Alana’s hand touches his shoulder and her look takes on more pacifying concern as she says, “ _Of course_ , Will.”  
  
“That’s enough, Francis,” Mischa says to the man at the other end of the reaching hands. “My brothers will do the rest.”  
  
The man grunts and leaves and after one last person enters with a teapot and cup balanced on top of a tall pile of folded fabric, everyone else exits to leave Will alone with Mischa and her chosen assistants.  
  
“I’ll need you to get undressed,” Mischa tells him. “The rest of the measurements are only correct if you’re not wearing clothes.”  
  
“Oh,” Will says and he looks between Alana and Margot in search of any sign of awkwardness or discomfort. When the worst he sees is the bland neutrality in Margot’s eyes, he agrees, “Alright.”  
  
Will is no stranger to being naked in front of people he’s only just met. Though he can’t say this is anywhere near his normal circumstances, he still strips away all his clothes without another word and lets them heap on the floor. What little sense of modesty he has left might burn away when he blushes as Mischa wraps her tape measure around the top of his thighs and then loops it to measure from the base of his cock, down between his legs, and to his tailbone. She writes those little measurements down too and doesn’t falter or do so much as blink her eye offbeat as she does.   
  
Will for his part _does_ blink in an awkward sort of way towards the clear teapot filled with mushrooms turning the water a deep orange-brown. The color grows more vibrant in front of his eyes as the glass steams and tiny bubbles collect and float to the top. Margot picks up the teapot and Alana takes hold of the fabric it had been resting on. She allows the folds to tumble open as the fabric cascades to the floor. It’s a deep maroon with matching embroidery and fringe that brushes against the wooden floor in a whisper. She holds it up for him to slip his arms into and, when he does, Mischa ties it closed for him.   
  
“I assume there’s something special about the tea,” he states as Margot hands him the delicate cup with her hands that look just as delicate and shake ever so slightly.  
  
“That’s a fair assumption,” Alana says with a laugh. “The tea will induce a heat.”  
  
Mischa fastens the robe together at his hip with a pin made from beads and pearls and jewels arranged in the shape of a moth. She hums in satisfaction at how the pin sits and how the fabric rests on his body. “By the time the sun rises tomorrow, you will have your mates,” she tells him. “They spend the next five days proving to you that you made the right decision.”  
  
Will looks down at the liquid in the cup as it finishes rippling and settles. He smells the heady aroma that rises with the steam: earthy, but with just the slightest hint of sweetness. As he takes his first sip, the taste is a bit stale on his tongue, but not unpleasant. It’s too soon for the warmth in his belly to be heat, but he can feel already how it’s starting to surge through his veins. “This is the ceremony?”  
  
“One of them,” Mischa answers. “The rest comes afterward.”  
  
“Is everyone going to watch or something?” he asks and his body gives a shiver – maybe from the slide of more hot tea down his throat, maybe with the idea of all those eyes around the dinner table watching him join with his mates. He’s used to strangers, but not an _audience_.  
  
“It’s still you who decides who is in your space,” Mischa reassures him.  
  
He takes another drink until the tea is half-gone. He licks his lips as he swallows. “Will people be insulted if I say no?”  
  
“Hannibal likes to think about those sorts of things, so I’m not surprised he wants you to as well,” Alana says. She furrows her brow in thought but her lips have the turn of a smile. “As you can imagine, Nigel’s probably had political savvy maybe one day in his whole life and Duncan knows just enough to sidestep.”  
  
At the mention of his soon-to-be mates, Will feels the need for them pulling at his nerves. The fire in his belly burns brighter and threatens to _hurt_ and the great big room feels empty even with these three women for company.  
  
“When do they get here?” he asks.  
  
Mischa smiles at him knowingly as she says, “As soon as you finish drinking the tea, they will wait with you.”  
  
Will’s heart pounds in his chest as he drinks down the last of the tea. It burns a little less now as he swallows. When he hands the teacup back to Mischa, her smile is wider and Alana’s nearly matches. Margot doesn’t smile, but it doesn’t seem to be because she’s unhappy, not quite. They all leave as soon as his cup is empty, taking everything unneeded with them – Mischa’s journal, the rest of the tea, the cup. As they walk out, his mates-to-be are there just outside the open doorway. Mischa touches each of them on the cheek and, of course, they each respond in their own way: a smirk, a smile, and very nearly nothing at all.  
  
Once the women have disappeared down the hallway, the Alphas are left waiting in the doorway until Will smiles and tells them, “You can come in.”  
  
The three of them are dressed in their own maroon robes. Theirs aren’t nearly as elaborate as Will’s but they wear them with regality and grandeur. The color compliments them. On Hannibal, it looks rich; on Nigel, it’s vibrant; and on Duncan, it’s deep. On all three of them, it looks like life and death all in one splendid bundle.  
  
Duncan sits back in the same chair he sat in before and Hannibal and Nigel sit on either end of a couch. They all face the brand-new nest that’s now front and center in the room, which seems to make it the only place that would make any sense for Will to sit. The cushion that acts as the base of the nest is plush but cozy as he climbs onto it. It cradles him without collapsing and gives him something to grip as he moves towards the middle.  
  
He feels their eyes on him as he sinks into the dip of the cushion and it welcomes him. “Now we wait?”  
  
Hannibal crosses his legs and intertwines his fingers together in his lap. “We wait.”  
  
It’s not too long before Will can feel the sweat start to build and dampen his hair and his stomach gives a harsh clench. The pain is sudden – a preheat quickened into a fraction of the time. He groans as he curls in on himself and rubs a hand across his eyes and forehead. He keeps his eyes squeezed closed as another clench rolls through him. His head is woozy enough to feel sickness threaten at the back of his throat.  
  
The smooth slide of the silken lining of his robe is cooling against his burning skin, but the delicacy only makes him prickle more. He takes a deep breath as his heart pounds harder and harder but there’s no hope for easing it. That he can feel the intensity of his soon-to-be Alphas’ stares makes his insides seem to boil. The tap of Nigel’s foot against the floor is soft for how he’s barefoot but as all Will’s senses come alight, any movement and any breath seems amplified. Will flinches away and finds himself looking at Duncan, who looks like he needs a cigarette and, though Will has never smoked, his mouth tastes stale with the echo of smoke.  
  
He uncurls an arm from around his waist and extends his hand out towards the Alpha as he calls out, “ _Duncan_.”  
  
Duncan’s palm is rougher with only the silk to compare it to and Will squeezes his fingers tighter to pull him into his brand new nest. The Alpha crawls on hands and knees to join Will in the center and Will pulls him close into his arms and clings to him as he breaths in his scent like comfort. Duncan’s robe is smooth against his fingers and Will can’t stand it. He parts the fabric and pushes it away to nuzzle at the rougher chest hair underneath. The skin that covers the side of Duncan’s ribcage is free of hair but not the ridges of scars. As he feels along the dip at the center, he feels it as a stab at his heart that turns his aching, clenching pain into the desperate desire to feel _good_.  
  
Will presses his mouth to Duncan’s and keeps the touch of his fingers soft as he tastes the tail end of smoke from its source. The fire that faded with dinner and all the preparations comes back burning brighter for how Will feels himself burning from the inside out. His pussy gushes with slick as the swirling pheromones of his building heat and the press of their mouths together earn a groan from Duncan’s throat. Will answers with his own moan as he feels Duncan’s cock rub against his thigh, skin-to-skin. He pulls his hand away from Duncan’s side and touches instead at the Alpha’s cock, feeling it hardening against his fingers.  
  
He touches and strokes until Duncan is fully hard and then touches some more just to enjoy the feeling. But soon the throb of his own cock and clench of his hole becomes too demanding. His hands shake as he tries to undo the pin at his hip until he has to let Duncan’s hands slip it away instead and even with the impatient writhe of Will’s hips, Duncan makes sure he never feels the prick of the point against his skin. As soon as the fabric is parted, Will presses his hand between his own legs until his slick coats his fingers and eases the way to press two of them in. When it drips to pool in his palm, he uses that same slick to coat Duncan’s cock.  
  
“Lay on your back,” Will says.  
  
Duncan nods and does as he’s told. When Will straddles him again, Duncan’s hands land on his hips just as they did before. Will’s robe has yet to slip from his shoulders and spreads out behind his legs. The maroon stands out in contrast with the pale skin of his thighs and compliments the vivid red of aching, desperate cocks. Will reaches between his legs to offer Duncan’s cock a guide and he moans as he sinks down. He anchors his hands at Duncan’s chest as he arches his back and languishes in the feeling of being filled again after going so long without. The clench of Duncan’s muscles tells him he could all too easily be turned over on his back and he will be sometime over the next few days, he’s sure. He’ll have his mates every way that they can be had and then they’ll find new ways to be.  
  
Will panting, stuttering breaths come from a chest that throbs and pounds too hard. His heat has hit full-force, a frenzy in his veins. It’s as if feeling every atom in the room at once. His senses are on overload. He feels drunk and high with it. His muscles have turned to jelly and become clumsy with exaggeration. Duncan offers him something to hold onto, but he feels his skin prickle and tingle with the want to be touched and molded and _taken_. He feels it the way he knows that Nigel is about to burst out of his own skin.  
  
“ _Nigel_ ,” he gasps and before he’s even finished saying it, Nigel has already declared, “ _Fucking finally_.”  
  
Will barely seems to have the time to blink before Nigel is pressed against his back. The Alpha’s inhale is loud in Will’s ear as they drink in each other’s scents and get drunker together, enabling each other to fall deeper into a space where feelings come out stronger and purer. Hands yank at the collar of Will’s robe and pull it back and down without much of a care for the niceness of the fabric and the meaning it’s meant to hold. It bunches around Will’s elbows as his mind trails behind and his arms get caught in the crossfire.  
  
Nigel mouths along his shoulders but stays clear of his neck – _for now_ – as Will straightens his arms and lets the fabric get pulled away and tossed aside. The Alpha’s eager hands roam along Will’s chest and spread downward with nothing to keep them apart and he shivers as Nigel drags his hands back up to take hold of his shoulder and push him forward. He bends as he’s led to and whimpers at the shift of Duncan’s cock in his hole. He braces himself on his elbows to kiss Duncan’s jaw and towards his mouth, while Nigel grabs at his ass.  
  
“Do you think you can take both of us in that sweet pussy of yours, gorgeous?” Nigel asks.  
  
“All of you,” Will gasps with his flushed, tender cheek pressed against Duncan’s rough one.  
  
Nigel’s answering laugh sends a shiver across his skin. “Greedy, little thing.”  
  
Will answers with his own shakier laugh. “It’s not greedy if I’m just taking what’s already _mine_.”  
  
Nigel pushes a finger into Will’s pussy and then a second and Duncan’s hands brace Will’s thighs as they tremble. The bump of Nigel’s knuckles when Will feels already stretched full has Will’s hole clenching from the memory of Hannibal’s fist. Just as quick as Nigel pushed his fingers in, he pulls them out again and Will would whine but Nigel hardly gives him the chance before he’s pressing the head of his cock against Will’s hole and pushing _in_. Will can do little more than pant against Duncan’s skin as he’s filled fuller than he’s ever been.  
  
His eyes and his mouth both dampen and nearly spill over as Nigel takes hold of his hips in an almost punishing grip and _mounts_ him, thrusting with the frenzy of unrestrained energy. Will’s cock is aching and eager for touch but he doesn’t dare to try to move to ease it. His world feels topsy turvy and even with Duncan’s solid hands on him, he feels adrift — a ship anchored but still rocked by the wind and the choppy current that crashes and breaks against his moors. Those binds won’t snap, that doesn’t mean he won’t be _wrecked_.  
  
_“Wait_ ,” Will gasps. “ _Wait_.”  
  
The air seems charged as the world stops spinning in the blink of an eye. Nigel plasters himself against Will’s back but doesn’t move. The heaving of Duncan’s chest is rough but steady. Will pushes himself up as much as he can in the space between them and looks over towards Hannibal, who still sits off to the side on the couch. He isn’t quite so casual anymore. His legs have uncrossed and he sits forward and gazes at Will with his all-observing eyes.  
  
“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will cries out as he tries to shift so that he might reach out a hand, but his arms wobble too much.  
  
Hannibal moves to his feet gracefully and joins them on the nest, kneeling on his knees. “My dear,” he soothes as he pets at his hair. “What is it?”  
  
Will grabs at the fabric of Hannibal’s robe and pulls, but it’s still stubbornly tied closed and his fingers are far too clumsy to untie anything. “ _Please_ , Hannibal.”  
  
Hannibal cradles Will’s chin in his hand and Will can feel tears spill down his cheeks to pool in the Alpha’s palm. “There’s nothing you can’t have now.”  
  
“Show me, _please_ ,” Will begs. “I want to feel it. Feel _you_.”  
  
Hannibal brushes his thumb through the damp left behind by Will’s tears and Will feels the stars sparkle in the shine of Hannibal’s eyes. “Open your mouth.”  
  
“ _Thank you_ ,” Will sighs.  
  
“We cannot waste, my dear,” Hannibal instructs as he turns one dexterous hand to untying his robe and parting it. “You will have to pace yourself.”  
  
Will nods as fabric falls away and though the robe still hangs around Hannibal’s shoulders and the Alpha is still not entirely bare, Will’s eyes pour over each and every bit of Hannibal he can find. Hannibal’s hands help to brace him as he twists and bends enough to take Hannibal’s cock in his mouth. Hannibal’s well on the way to hard already – likely in no small part due to the scent that pours out of Will and how it is specifically intended to entice and arouse. His body calls to his Alphas as he’s called to them with his voice, summoned them by name and with his whimpers and whines.  
  
Nigel ruts his hips against Will's ass like he wants to fuck in deeper and harder even though Will is already beyond filled and Will moans as even Duncan’s hips shift with impatience too. He presses back to meet them and they take that as the encouragement it is. Held in all of their hands, they each have their own tug and with the balanced strength of all three of them, he’s caught right in the middle, hooked and with tethers held taut.  
  
As he is held exactly where they want him, every movement is intensified that much more and he is that much more diligent in how he works his lips, tongue, and throat around Hannibal’s cock. The moans – his and his Alphas’ – are a cacophony in his ear alongside the pounding of his blood in his veins. Every pleasure his soon-to-be mates feel echoes and amplifies until Will couldn’t possibly be sure where he begins and they end.   
  
“This is your last chance,” Hannibal says as his fingers grip in the hair at the back of his neck and tug Will back to urge him to gulp down some air. “This is when you make your decision.”  
  
Will nods against the hold at his hair. “Yes.”  
  
“We’ll be your mates,” Duncan says, at once said so simply but it’s the most excessive thing Will’s heard him say yet.  
  
He grinds down and tilts his hips to rub his cock against the line of hair down Duncan’s middle. “Yes.”  
  
Nigel’s voice is deep and rough right into his ear. “Until death do us _fucking_ part.”  
  
“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Will gasps as he clenches as hard as he can around the cocks that fill him.  
  
Nigel and Duncan pull him between their hands with grasps that work both against and with each other until Will is caught between them and caught _on_ them. As their knots swell, Will’s hole is stretched until it stings. He is only distracted from the stinging by the bone-deep satisfaction of being filled and the searing pain of teeth sinking into either side of his neck. Nigel’s teeth dig in on his left and Duncan’s on his right until Will’s not sure if blood or spit runs down his throat and into the dip at the base of his neck.  
  
He cries out as the points of their teeth dig in deep and pain and pleasure combine in something so profound and overwhelming that tears spring anew and spill from his eyes. His orgasm crashes over him and pulls him under and he’s drowning in it as Nigel and Duncan seem to just keep spilling and _spilling_ inside him and he’s so _full_ but still something is missing. Hannibal’s teeth are too clean and Will has left him hard and aching.  
  
Nigel and Duncan release him from between the catch of their jaws like bear traps opening wide to prepare for the next time they’re sprung. They smooth their tongues in broad swipes to clean the blood they spilled. They pet their hands along any skin they can touch and Will feels the shiver of fading fever and sweat cooling on his flushed skin. Hannibal waits as patiently as ever as he pets against Will’s cheek. Will has never been worshipped before, but he thinks this might be how it feels.  
  
As the knots begin to shrink, Will is boneless and easily guided by the strength of their arms to his hands and knees. He slumps down further to press his cheek to the soothing plush of the nest and his hips are held high and tilted so that nothing is lost.  
  
Hannibal looms large behind him and he hisses wetly through his teeth as Hannibal sinks into him with one confident thrust into Will’s hole, left wet and ready for him. The sensitivity makes Will whimper as the brand new bites at his neck burn and weep without tongues to tend to them. His hands scramble against the nest as he grips but the cushion almost feels like nothing between the clench of his fingers. It’s not until his two new mates take hold of either hand that he finds the handhold he’d been looking for. Nigel’s hand presses down against the back of his left hand, while Duncan turns their hands palm-to-palm.  
  
Will had done his part and kept Hannibal just on the edge — not too close, not too far — but the time he was left waiting for knots to fade has faded at his arousal as well. Will presses his sweaty forehead against the nest and presses himself back as much as he can against Hannibal’s body to meet him as he thrusts. He arches his back into a deep curve and the brush of his cock against the fabric beneath him has him shuddering. He comes again to the feeling of Hannibal’s knot swelling inside him and he clenches his hole in encouragement as Hannibal spills inside him too.  
  
Hannibal’s teeth at last sink across the back of Will’s neck, overlapping and interlocking with his brothers’ bites across the glands that sit at either side of his throat. The pain is sharper with Will’s exhaustion. He grits his teeth to keep from flinching and grips harder at his mates’ hands. When Hannibal pulls his teeth away, he carefully urges Will’s knees back and inward to lay flat and covers him with his body as he licks against the new wound he’s laid.  
  
“Sleep,” Hannibal whispers as Nigel and Duncan shift to settle along the edges of the nest. “You’ve done well.”  
  
His eyes slip closed and he drifts to sleep just as the sun starts to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it on twitter already, but as someone who questions their ability to write sex well, writing a foursome was a challenge to say the least. Hopefully, it turned out okay! I’m trying to decide how much of the rest of the heat I cover in the next chapter. I might update BBotA while I decide.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags again. I added another one :)

On Will’s sixteenth birthday, he went to a party. No one knew it was his birthday but he told his dad that his friends threw the party for him because Will knew that’s what he wanted to hear. The truth was that Will was invited by the football player that he let copy his homework.  
  
He didn’t get invited to many parties, so when a headache crept in, he ignored it and when his stomach started to hurt and his hands shook, he thought he was just nervous. He thought the best thing to do would be to push through and go to the party. There would be other feelings to cover up the nervousness once he got there. He’d felt so terribly _lonely_. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling but suddenly it hurt worse as if creating a crater where his stomach should be.  
  
So he went.  
  
When he got to the party, the football player was there – an Alpha, tall and broad-shouldered, and smelling like freshly mowed grass, the salt of sweat, and the musk of brutal strength and reckless disregard. That football player had smiled at Will so big and bright as if he didn’t have a care in the world and that loneliness deep in Will’s belly warmed. It made Will forget to care about his own aches and pains.  
  
Will had only felt warmer and _warmer_ when the football player’s two popular, football player friends smiled at him that same way. Those smiles shined on him. With each occasional touch, his nerves come alight in a way he’d never felt before. He earned himself pats on the back and received the brush of fingers as he was handed a plastic cup. He’d thought that it was the alcohol and the attention that had him feeling so overheated and sweaty.  
  
When they went down to the basement together, the cool air had him shivering. Something about the chill down his spine made him recognize that these three football players – these _Alphas_ – all held pure _want_ in their eyes. His knees had wobbled with the _want_ to be _wanted_ and they wanted _so much_.

His first heat started in utter bliss at the attention that surrounded him.  
  
He got to bask in the pleasure and the praise until the cops came to break up the party and injected him with a sedative and enough of an emergency suppressant to calm him enough to get him home. To Will, it had seemed like a waste to spend the rest of his heat whining and whimpering in bed when the deed had already been done. He’d known already down in that basement that he would be pregnant and he’d been right. The only thing he hadn’t known at the time was just _how much_. He wouldn’t find out until much later that _each_ of those football players put a pup in him.  
  
When Will wakes up, light pours in through the window and his skin is sweaty from the heat of the sun and the heat that still simmers in his veins. It’s tame. For now. The bites at his throat and the knots of his many new mates have helped to ease it for the time being, but the _need_ and the _desperation_ will come roaring back soon enough.  
  
Only this time he’s squished and smothered between the three bodies of his Alphas – his _mates_ – and he wouldn’t dare complain about that, wouldn’t have a reason to. They’d shifted when Hannibal’s knot went down and rearranged so Will wouldn’t _actually_ be smothered in his sleep. He’s held in Nigel’s arms now, crushing and possessive and demanding even in his sleep. Will could hardly wriggle if he wanted to, so he only nuzzles in closer.  
  
“Good Morning, gorgeous,” Nigel whispers, digging his fingers into the skin of Will’s back.  
  
“You’re _clingy_ ,” Will teases as he kisses at Nigel’s chest. “If I hadn't been so _distracted,_ I would have pegged you sooner as the clingy type.”  
  
“You’re not going to be the one to peg me at all, darling,” Nigel murmurs as he rolls Will onto his back and himself down on top of him. Will whines softly as Nigel slides a hand along his ass, up his thigh, and catches behind his knee to push it towards his chest. “Do you already need more?”  
  
Will’s muscles feel lazy and lethargic. He’s putty in Nigel’s hands, too exhausted still with the strain of heat. The warmth in his belly threatens to make sure he doesn’t get another second of rest until it’s been appeased. “Yes, _please_ , Nigel.”  
  
The Alpha’s hand pulls away from his knee and back down to brush against the slick that’s already soaked Will enough to wet his inner thighs. Nigel knocks his knuckles against Will’s cock as he moves his hand upward and it gives Will only the briefest sparks of pleasure. Nigel’s hand finally settles, spread open and wide against Will’s middle.  
  
“You’re going to make such pretty pups for us, aren’t you?” Nigel whispers as he kisses Will’s cheeks where they flush.  
  
“As many as you want,” Will promises, licking his lips.  
  
“That’s a dangerous thing to say, gorgeous,” Nigel teases. “I’m sure Hannibal told you already that I’ve got eyes bigger than my stomach, maybe even too big for a belly like yours to handle.”  
  
“Hannibal didn’t need to tell me,” Will gasps as he feels Nigel’s cock harden and twitch. “But he told you how many I’ve had, didn’t he?”  
  
Nigel hums and taps his fingers against Will’s skin. “Didn’t care to know anything beyond _a lot_.”  
  
“It was a lot,” Will muses as he lays his hand over Nigel’s to still his tapping. Looking down at his body, it doesn’t seem to tell the story as it should. There’s no way to tell how much has happened. It feels like a lie for it look like nothing may have ever happened at all. “ _They_ were _a lot_.”  
  
Nigel turns his hand and takes Will’s to thread their fingers together. He presses their intertwined hands against the nest by Will’s head. “We’ll give you that many and more.”  
  
Will smiles at the thought of how many litters he might give his mates if there are no restrictions – how greedy he and Nigel would enable each other to be, how Duncan might glow brighter with each precious thing to call his own, and how Hannibal will delight in the way each of the pups could be similar and different with their own likes, dislikes, skills, and struggles. How many sets of triplets could he give these triplets? Would they look exactly like their sires?  
  
“I hope you put your money where your mouth is,” Will says, goading.  
  
Nigel’s smirk is as quick as his hand moves to grasp at Will’s cock. He rubs his thumb against the ridge at the head and Will groans as he throws his head back and his neck _stings_.   
  
“You can do better than that, darling,” Nigel murmurs as he leans down to lick across the mark he left on Will’s neck. When he sets his teeth to the tender, burning skin, Will’s breath comes out in a hiss. It stings as it heals – at once mending and enflaming itself so that what remains after it heals is well and truly scarred. This is a part of his skin that will show what’s happened and changed loud and clear.  
  
Nigel sneaks his fingers back and slides his palm against Will’s cock as the Alpha presses his fingers into his pussy. Will gasps, open-mouthed and desperate. Nigel’s teeth don’t break skin at his neck again – they don’t need to – and he nuzzles against the Alpha’s hair. “Kiss me, Nigel,” he pleads. “ _Kiss me._ ”  
  
Nigel laughs as he pulls his mouth away from Will’s neck and moves towards his mouth. “You beg so pretty,” he praises as he leans in for a kiss.  
  
Will hums in pleasure against his lips and then shifts his head to press them together harder and deeper. He’s kept his leg bent and open even without Nigel’s hold to insist on it and he feels how his pussy rubs wetly along Nigel’s cock as it slips into the space between his legs. He tilts his hips as much as he can but can’t manage the angle to get the Alpha’s cock to push in. He feels frantic for it and his hole _gushes_ slick to try to offer encouragement. It slickens as Nigel rubs himself against Will, but still he doesn’t press in.  
  
Will grips at the hair at the back of his mate’s head and _yanks_ , bearing the front of the Alpha’s throat. It’s blank, matching the only blank space left on Will’s neck. “And my _bite_ , would you consider that pretty too?”  
  
Nigel smirks. From this angle, his eyes are squinted small, but they still manage to be teasing. “You are a vicious one, aren’t you?”  
  
Will pushes himself up on his elbow and licks across Nigel’s throat. “I’ll have to be to keep up with you,” he whispers against the skin.  
  
“You’ll have to bite hard, darling,” Nigel says and the words vibrate against Will’s lips. “Spill blood for love.”  
  
“I can do that,” Will agrees, pressing the edges of his teeth against taut skin and muscle. “You better fuck me or I might decide to bite you _right now_.”  
  
Will keeps Nigel’s hair in his grip and his head held back, while Nigel shifts himself to _finally_ line up his cock at Will’s hole. Will’s teeth fall away from Nigel’s neck as he moans and his elbow slips out from under him as he falls flat against the cushion beneath him. Nigel follows him down and the fall of their bodies pushes his cock that much deeper in. With each thrust of Nigel’s hips, there is a ripple effect of pleasure in his belly, at once soothing and feeding the heat. It cascades outwards, up his chest, to his throat, and out through the panting gasps that escape his lips. His mouth hovers with the growing, hungry frenzy that has Nigel grunting when he slams his hips.  
  
Will has to wait until the right moment. It’s the moment when he can merge ecstasy with pain and merge pain with the deepest connection there is. When he bites as he comes and is knotted, he gives Nigel the escape of pleasure to distract from the hurt and the wound.   
  
He lazily licks along the bite as blood beads and threatens to drip. Will wouldn’t mind the stain of a mate’s blood on his nest, but letting any of it fall would feel too much like a failure. As he diligently licks, his tongue grows as tired as the rest of him and Nigel’s hissing breaths are starting to settle. They both fall asleep before Nigel’s knot has gone down and Will once again has a mate’s heavy weight to soothe the need for touch that still prickles at his skin.  
  
When he wakes again, Nigel and Duncan have moved chairs next to the great big window and tipped open one of the panes. As they lounge back in the chairs, they bring lit cigarettes to their lips and then turn their necks to blow clouds of smoke into the open air outside. Will rubs his eyes as he sits up.  
  
Hannibal raises a spoon towards him and says, “You need to eat.”  
  
“What is it?” Will asks as he leans forward. The liquid in the spoon is bright pink.  
  
“Šaltibarščiai,” Hannibal says. “The color is a sign that warm weather has arrived in Lithuania.”  
  
“Did you make this?” he asks, strangely insulted by the idea that one of his Alphas would leave the confines of his quarters and come back again all while he slept, even if it was to provide for him.  
  
“While you were getting your beauty sleep, Mischa stopped by to leave the essentials just outside the door,” Nigel interjects and he gives his cigarette a wave for show. He’s too experienced with it for the cough he gives to come from taking too long of a drag or not being able to hold his smoke. The bite at his throat looks as red and angry as the three that spread across Will’s neck feel.  
  
When Will meets his eyes, Nigel’s smirk sends the flush of heat spreading outwards again. Will watches Duncan and Nigel each take another drag of their cigarettes, both of them casually perching it between two of their fingers. He considers how empty their laps look and how much more relaxed they would be if Will made sure their laps were filled and cocks kept warm. The flush feeds the heat building again in his belly.   
  
“You need to _eat_ ,” Hannibal repeats, drawing Will’s attention back from where it’s strayed.  
  
Will takes hold of Hannibal’s arm just below the elbow. Though the strength of his grip threatens to spill some of that bright pink on the nest, Hannibal holds steady and not a drop falls.  
  
“You said I could have whatever I wanted,” Will reminds him.  
  
“You will,” Hannibal placates as he watches Will lick his lips. “You need the energy first.”  
  
“I just woke up,” Will counters even though he can feel the shakiness of his hands.   
  
Hannibal easily pulls his arm from Will’s hold and raises the spoon again as he insists, “ _Will_.”  
  
Will shifts himself forward until his leg overlaps Hannibal’s knees and his mate has to pull back his hand to keep it from colliding and spilling. “I’ll eat,” Will agrees, “ _if_ the meal ends with my teeth in your throat.”  
  
Nigel interrupts with another laugh that goes raspy at the tail end.  
  
Hannibal tips his chin lower in deference and holds up the spoon again to insist. “As you wish, my dear.”  
  
Will leans forward again and finally lets Hannibal feed him. The soup is cold against his tongue and delicious. He accepts spoonful after spoonful, never breaking eye contact with Hannibal. Will feels the pink travel to his cheeks as his mate looks at him with eyes that hold more and more satisfaction.  
  
“How did I taste?” Will asks as he swallows down the next mouthful.  
  
Hannibal’s smile shows just the points of his teeth, which are no longer painted red. “Perfect.”  
  
“How do you think you’ll taste?” Will asks, digging the tip of his incisor against the tip of his tongue. He can taste Hannibal’s hunger and the pleasure he takes in feeding, but he’s yet to taste anything of Hannibal beyond skin-deep. “Will I be able to taste the difference between you and your brothers?”  
  
Hannibal’s laugh is quiet, but still pleased. He holds up the last spoonful of soup as he says, “There’s only one way for you to know for sure.”  
  
Will accepts the last sip. He then takes the bowl and spoon from his mate’s hand and drops them outside the nest. The bowl is empty enough that there’s nothing to spill. With both of their hands empty and Will’s part of the deal done, he pushes his hand against Hannibal’s chest until the Alpha rests against a pile of pillows that lines the nest.  
  
“You’ll take my teeth, but will you give me the truth?” Will muses aloud as he sits next to his mate. “Do you even know what that is?”  
  
“We each have our own truths,” Hannibal says with a hum, but Will can feel the challenge rake across nerves that are made desperate and keenly aware. Will’s body calls out to his mate and he feels Hannibal tease and taunt him in the recesses of his mind.   
  
“ _Don’t lie to me_ ,” Will snaps. He feels danger lick at the back of his teeth and make his tongue sharper. “Give me some honesty with your blood: Do you want me to make it feel good or would you rather it hurt?”  
  
“My most honest answer would be that I want you to do what you think is best,” Hannibal says. “And if it hurts, so be it.”  
  
Will studies every detail he can find in Hannibal’s expression – his mouth, his eyes, the turn of his brows, the wrinkle of his forehead. Hannibal’s words are the honesty Will asked for – even if still a bit vaguer than he’d _hoped_ for. Though Hannibal says it’s what he wants, Will wonders if even Hannibal really knows what it means. And, if he doesn’t know what it means, can it really be true?  
  
“Lie down,” Will commands. “On your back.”  
  
Hannibal lifts himself to shift down to his back, moving gracefully and capably. He lies as flat as he can with the plush of the cushion and Will crawls over to him to kneel with his knees kept pressed together and the heels of his feet tucked under his ass. Will folds over so that he can get his teeth at Hannibal’s throat and touches nowhere else except for his hand laid against his mate’s chest over his heart.  
  
He presses his teeth in the same way and in the same place on Hannibal as he did on Nigel and sinks his teeth in slowly, too slowly even to really bite. The snap of his jaw will need to be harsher to draw blood. He wants Hannibal to feel the points of his teeth. He anticipates that Hannibal might change his mind. He can easily imagine Hannibal deciding he’d rather reopen the wound he left on Will than get his own.  
  
Hannibal doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even tense his throat under Will’s teeth. He stays and breathes and waits. It’s Will who gives in first in their game of chicken. He pulls back his teeth when the pain he imagines Hannibal feeling isn’t _right_. His mate will feel the pain of his bite – Will has decided that – but he won’t be so cruel as to truly do it _slowly_. He will give it to Hannibal sharp and quick and then take care to make sure it’s treated lovingly and gently.  
  
When he next puts his teeth against Hannibal’s throat, he draws blood quickly. Hannibal barely makes a sound. As Will licks the blood from Hannibal’s throat, he feels a thirst quenched. There is a beast in Will that rears its head whenever he feels the one in Hannibal. This beast has been sated – for now – pleased at how its counterpart inside Hannibal has bowed. Will sits up to look at his mate and sees pleasure there in his Alpha’s eyes even though Will had chosen the less pleasurable route.  
  
“Did I taste different?” Hannibal asks, his voice a harsh, rasping murmur.  
  
Will smiles as he pets Hannibal’s bangs back into the order he likes. “You did.”  
  
He lays himself on top of Hannibal, resting his head on Hannibal’s chest by his shoulder and covering him with his body as much as they comfortably can. His hip might dig a little too much into Hannibal’s middle, but the Alpha still doesn’t complain. He only curls an arm around Will and presses his cheek against his hair.  
  
There is a pull in Will’s insides that rebels against how by denying Hannibal, Will has denied his heat its satisfaction. But his Alphas know to make sure he gets what he needs even if he chooses to go back to sleep, so there’s no reason to keep himself from it.  
  
The next time Will wakes, he’s lying on his back with Nigel and Hannibal curled against his sides, and Duncan laid down on top of him with his cheek against Will’s belly. Will threads his fingers in Duncan’s sweaty hair and scratches his fingers against his scalp as the Alpha’s stubble scratches back at his sensitive skin. He shifts his hips against the nest. His legs have gone tingly as they fell asleep with an Alpha heavy and asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mean to wake Duncan but finds the Alpha shifting away with quick reflexes and blinking up at him with keen eyes.  
  
“Sorry I woke you,” Will whispers, looking to see if he woke the rest of his mates too, but Nigel and Hannibal still seem deeply sunken into their sleep.  
  
“Don’t be,” Duncan states.  
  
Will blinks at the light that streams in through the window behind his head. It looks the kind of soft that could come from how low the sun is in the sky or simply a cloudy day. “Is it 'good morning' or 'good afternoon'?”  
  
“Almost evening,” Duncan says. “You slept through most of the second day.”  
  
Will touches at his hair and finds it damp with sweat and greasy. His throat still aches fiercely when he swallows but there’s no stinging pain. He shifts his hips again and feels more than slick dripping from his pussy. “Seems you still had fun,” he observes.  
  
Duncan hums as his lips twitch in a smile.  
  
Will runs his fingers through his mate’s greasy hair and down along the wet-darkened hair of his sideburn. “How much of my mess is your fault?”  
  
“It’s as much my fault as it is theirs,” Duncan replies as his smile lingers longer. “Or yours.”  
  
Will smiles back at him. It’s true. An Omega’s body will demand touch and pleasure regardless of whether the Omega is in any state to appease it. The pheromones that pour out of his skin tell his Alphas that there is a need even if he is not awake to speak it. Without the attentions of his Alphas, he would be woken harshly and often by sharp pain and deep aches.  
  
“Would you like a bath?” Duncan asks as he shifts slowly and quietly up on his knees.  
  
“A bath would be _great_ ,” Will sighs. “Thank you, Duncan.”  
  
Will hisses as he tries to shuffle across the cushion but the tingles of numbness turn to pins and needles now that blood flow returns to his legs. He flinches away from the movement that caused the pain but knows he has to lean back into it again if he wants it to go away. Duncan seems to have a different idea as he picks Will up in his arms and stands. Even as the cushion sinks and shifts under his feet, he carries Will in the cradle of his arms out of the nest and through the door that leads to the private bathroom within the broodmother’s quarters.  
  
The bathroom is spacious and lavish. There are multiple sinks and many mirrors. The floors are stone, but when Duncan sets him down his toes sink into a soft mat that covers an expanse of it. The Alpha makes sure Will is steady on his legs before he moves away to fill the tub. It’s _huge_. Will might think it’s just as similar to a pool as it is a bathtub. He knows that it is that size so that it will fit him and make sure his mates are not left out in the cold and dry. The tub’s halfway full when Duncan nods to him. He braces his hands along the edge as he steps one foot in and hisses as the hot water burns at his skin.  
  
“Too hot?” Duncan asks.  
  
“No,” Will reassures as his other foot joins the first. “It’s hot, but it’s a relief.”  
  
He shivers when the rest of his skin feels colder by comparison. The heat soothes as much as it hurts and he sinks in deeper up to his waist. When Duncan steps in after him, the Alpha doesn’t even flinch. Will suspects that there isn’t much that could burn hot enough to defrost Duncan beyond lukewarm. Will trusts that he can find a way somehow.  
  
Will leans back and sinks under the water. The sweat of heat starts to wash away as he resurfaces. For a moment, he feels a little soberer, a little more human. The smell of soap gives him something else to breathe in than his own heat and the scents of his mates. Will ducks his head and sighs as Duncan rubs shampoo into his hair. The great, big, sturdy hands massage and lather and Will’s shoulders curl in as he gives himself over to being soothed.   
  
“Already taking care of me so well,” he praises.  
  
“I said I would,” Duncan replies. His hands pull back from Will’s hair and skip over his neck to his shoulder and urge him back to dip his head in the water.  
  
As the water becomes sudsy, it burns at the wounds on his neck and he hisses wetly. The bites still resent the idea that they might be cleaned and healed away. Will wouldn’t even if he could.  
  
“Have you taken care of anyone before?” he asks as his wince turns into a smile. He peeks his eyes open and smiles wider as he looks at Duncan. Will has become used to feeling others’ emotions as he receives them. Duncan gives Will the challenge of reflecting and magnifying, absorbing a glimmer of happiness and giving it a shine that even Duncan can’t help but feel. “Or are you just a natural?”  
  
Duncan’s lips twitch in the slightest of little smiles, but it gets schooled back to something more neutral as he states, “I’ve never done it before.”  
  
Will keeps his eyes on his mate as he asks, “Not much care in the funeral business?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Will looks into Duncan’s eyes and sees death and suffering that amount to little more satisfaction than running errands, but with a much, _much_ higher cost. “Are you ready to tell me about your funeral business yet?”  
  
Duncan’s eyes look away towards a bar of soap and he picks it up. Will takes it from his hand before he can build much of a lather. He rubs it between his hands instead and touches the scar at his mate’s ribs that he’d felt before. Then he touches along a crooked line of scar across the Alpha’s shoulder, crossed with marks from stitches like the wood that sturdies the iron of train tracks. Next comes a rounder scar across the way on the other shoulder and then a scar in an odd shape a little below. Duncan sits solid and still as Will touches each of them. It would be impossible to know if his touch hurts.  
  
“We’re mates now,” Will says as he washes the scar that travels down the middle of his Alpha’s chest. “There’s no _it depends_ anymore. Hannibal might like his secrets, but there’s no point to _you_ holding back now.”  
  
“I killed people,” Duncan says, tone flat. “For money.”  
  
“Thank you for telling me,” Will says as he pushes his mate’s hair back and the wet of his hand smooths the sweaty hair against his head until it’s ready to be washed.  
  
Will knows what danger feels like. He’s learned to see it over the many years as he’s encountered it. Those who might have thought they were taking advantage of him never knew that they were the ones being used. He would pretend for them not to know better as he got pleasure in giving a good performance. And so, he knows his mates are dangerous, but their dangers have their beauty and depth in ways others have not and they’re _his_. He will happily take Duncan’s comfort and find even more comfort in the shared knowledge of his danger.   
  
Will knows that for many people, Duncan has been a nightmare and a foe. What Duncan may not have been able to experience is being a _hero_. Will can see the long-awaited dream of it deep beneath the depths in Duncan’s eyes.  
  
He draws his finger up along Duncan’s sternum and leaves a wet line in his wake until his fingers touch at the base of his mate’s throat. He presses on either side of the windpipe and feels for the place to dig in his teeth. “Tip up your chin, sweetheart.”  
  
The tiredness in the bags under Duncan’s eyes and the shape of his mustache in a constant frown give his face a look of sadness, but Will feels the relief in the slumping of his shoulders and lift of his head up and back.  
  
“Which of your scars hurt the least?” Will asks.  
  
“I don’t remember,” Duncan says, his voice rumbles against the press of Will’s fingers. “They all seem the same.”  
  
“That will be different after today,” Will says with a reassuring smile as he releases Duncan’s neck from his hold. He sits back to where there is the ledge of a seat built into the tub. He presses himself back against the wall and spread his thighs. “Come here.”  
  
Duncan moves between Will’s legs. He places his hands around Will’s knees to push them wider apart, while Will reaches down in between them and touches his hands to their cocks. He strokes them in the same way and at the same pace, but Duncan’s seems to grow hard twice as fast. Will knows his pussy has been made more than ready as he has taken his mates many times over the past few days.  
  
He tightens his knees around Duncan’s waist to spur him to push in. Duncan doesn’t disappoint and presses in until his hips meet Will’s skin and his thighs hit the edge of the seat. Will pants as he loops his arms around Duncan’s shoulders. For the moment, he only nuzzles at Duncan’s neck as the scent of his Alpha underneath the soap and sweat – the cozy heat of it complements the warmth of the bathwater around him and the flush of his skin.  
  
Duncan props a foot up on the corner of the seat to give himself the angle to push in harder and deeper. The air rushes out of Will’s chest with a gasp whenever Duncan gives a powerful thrust in. Will feels the bunching and clenching of Duncan’s muscles and hears the soft grunts in his ear and moans loudly for his mate. He wants Duncan to know just how much he pleases him.  
  
“When I bite you, that scar will belong to me,” Will murmurs into Duncan’s ear. His words come out stuttering and stumbling with how the movement of Duncan’s hips pounds the air from his lungs. “Every scar you have is _mine_ now, as is everything you did to earn them.”  
  
Duncan takes hold of Will’s cock in his sure grasp as he pushes in and knots. Duncan’s strokes are without hesitation even as his own orgasm rushes through him. Will grips his hand at the back of his mate’s neck so that he can set his teeth exactly where he means to and _bite_. Will’s jaw clenches with his own orgasm as the rest of his muscles jerk and tremble, his knees knocking against Duncan’s waist.  
  
Will licks Duncan’s neck just as diligently as he had his other mates’. Duncan won’t suffer for being the last. When the wound no longer weeps, Will leans back as much as he can while still knotted and pressed against the wall of the tub. He casts a look over one of his shoulders and then the other and laughs.  
  
When Duncan gives him a blank, but questioning sort of look, Will explains, “I can’t reach the soap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really like this chapter? Like a lot??


	7. Chapter 7

Will’s heat is a cycle of waking, fucking, eating, and sleeping. It repeats over and over again until he wakes up to a slight chill in the air and shivers even as he lounges in a nest warmed by three other bodies. He blinks his eyes open and his waking energy is crisper, more lucid. Where has been able to just as easily wake up as go back to sleep throughout his heat, he is now wide awake.  
  
He shivers as the sweat cools on his skin for the last time after five days of feeling overheated and flushed. He climbs out of the nest to find the robe that has been donned and discarded many times for the past few days. It’s in a heap on the floor when he reaches to pick it up. The silk seems even chillier as he slides the robe back over his shoulders.  
  
Next, he reaches for his three blankets that were specially gifted to him by his mates and he drapes each blanket over its giver. He covers Hannibal in beautiful paisley swirls of soft reds, Nigel in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, and Duncan with the dependable warmth of fur. None of his mates stir or blink awake – not even Duncan – but he still wants to be careful. Rather than jarring them by climbing back into the nest, he fetches a book from behind its tapestry and lays back along the couch to flip the cover open again. He hadn’t taken the time to notice before that there is an inscription on the inside of the front cover: _The reflections and wisdoms of Broodmother Lecter._   
  
Will looks back towards his mates – _still asleep_ – and flips through the pages again. He will read it from cover-to-cover many times, he’s sure. For now, he lets himself see what catches his eye. The few wisdoms his mates’ mother has given him have already been valuable beyond estimation and comprehension. More of the looping script stands out to him from the page: _Where I come from, if an Omega gives themselves to too many (which is usually anything more than one) it’s assumed they are broken or are too naïve and too easily swayed by what Alphas want. The idea that Omegas might have something to gain never seems to be considered._  
  
Will huffs a quiet laugh. As the laugh fades, he finds himself tearing up and his face slackening towards a frown. He thinks of all the disappointment and misunderstanding, the judgmental looks and grating criticisms that threatened to spoil and curdle his happiness. Will thought _differently_ from everyone else, Mr. Crawford had said, and that usually was considered a problem. Will’s breath shudders in his chest to stifle his sadness and he rubs at his eyes to discourage tears from falling. Even though it’s a summer afternoon and the sunshine is hot and stuffy with the window closed, he looks back again at his mates as the chill starts to feel like too much.  
  
When he stands to rejoin them, there is knocking at the door. Will expects to hear the clattering of trays and silverware as he’d heard with varying degrees of attention over the last few days. Instead, there’s just more knocking. Will ties his robe tighter and approaches the door. As he walks, he can feel slick and seed slip from his hole and his cheek twitches with a grimace. His arm aches as he pulls the door open.  
  
Mischa is there. Will’s stomach pangs with hunger when he sees she hasn’t brought them more food, but simply has a bag slung across her shoulder and resting against her hip. “Hello, Will,” she says as she touches her fingers to his cheek as she has done to his mates before. “Can I come in?”  
  
Will tries not to flinch with the unfamiliar touch or stay _too_ still. He doesn’t want her to think it’s unwelcome. He’s just never had a sister before. If anything, if he’d given himself more than a fraction of a second, he would have _leaned in_. “Sure,” he says as he opens the door wider for her.  
  
Her belly isn’t that big yet – even if Will isn’t thinking of his own standards and instead uses the more regular ones – but she still needs some extra room. She closes the door for him behind her while he’s distracted by turning towards his mates and smiling again when he sees them there – his comfort, his chaos, and his control.  
  
As he steps towards them, Mischa gently but surely places her hand on his shoulder. “Leave them,” she tells him with a whisper. “They’ve still got sleep to catch up on.”  
  
Will hesitates. Mischa is right that they deserve to rest for a good long while. They have every right to be exhausted after meeting the demands of his body for five whole days. Will’s shoulders crack as he rolls them, as does his neck.  
  
“I have some things for you,” Mischa encourages as she takes his hand. She raises her eyebrows and her eyes widen in such beautiful earnestness that makes Will feel _let in_ as much as he is _looked at_. “Come into the bathroom, I’ll show you.”  
  
He nods and follows the guidance of her hand as she pulls him along to the other room. She brings him over to an empty counter below one of the many mirrors and next to another one that stands long and tall. He looks at himself in these mirrors and sees the scars in the shape of teeth raised and red at either side of his throat – together in the mirror they almost make a full set. There is also the mess of his curls from wet hair slept on funny and his eyes seem bluer for how the rest of him looks faded like he’s been run through the wash over and over.  
  
When he sees Mischa in the reflection, he thinks she looks like she could be his sister with her curly hair and blue eyes. If her hair were darker and Will’s face was a little longer and rounder, the resemblance might have felt uncanny.  
  
Will looks down as Mischa picks up his hand and places something in it. As he raises it up and brings it closer, his fingers curl tighter around the edges of two circles. Will sees black leather bands hanging from around his enclosed fingers and when he opens them, in his palm is a sturdy metal ring and thick circle of clear resin inset with a large bee.  
  
“I have this one for you,” she explains and then gestures over to where she’s laid out another three on the counter, though these three each have a _wasp_. “We wouldn’t usually do a wasp, but it seemed like the only thing that would be appropriate for my dear brothers.”  
  
“Agreed,” Will says with a laugh.  
  
The little buckle at the end of the leather clinks as he brings it up to his neck. The band is thick and lies bracketed nicely where the lines of teeth starts to curve. Mischa steps behind him to help him pick the proper notch and affix the buckle. It’s tight enough to be _there_ and pleasantly in his awareness, but not so tight that it would be uncomfortable. The circle sits nicely against his neck and the pendant hangs right underneath it to fit at the notch at the base of his throat.  
  
“It’s beautiful, Mischa,” he says as he touches his fingers along the queen bee’s back.  
  
“There’s more,” Mischa tells him. Her smile is wide and bright.  
  
She bends – and then when that doesn’t work quite right _crouches_ – and pulls from her bag another series of leather bands and metal rings and buckles. She also pulls out something else but she tucks it under her arm so quickly that he hardly sees it.  
  
“I know the world out there has created its own rules based on assumptions and misunderstandings,” she tells him as she stands and he touches his hands at her elbow and her back to help her even though he’s not sure she needed it. She smiles at him in thanks all the same. “Here we let Nature be our guide.”  
  
She tucks the collection of leather under her arm too and, with her elbows pinned against her sides, she sets her fingers on the tie of his robe with permission asked for in the look in her eyes. When Will nods, she undoes the loops of fabric and pushes the robe from his shoulders. He lets it fall from his arms to the floor in a move that’s familiar enough to be a habit.  
  
“Mother Nature allows things that have a purpose,” Mischa continues. “If we look to our fellow creatures, we can understand better ourselves as creatures.”  
  
She holds up the collection of leather and metal, pinching together at the top of two black bands and aligning her fingers at either of his shoulders. His hand takes the place of one of hers as the leather cascades down along his body. There are bands that extend down from his shoulders and align across his chest. When fastened, they would loop around his back. These bands connect together at a metal ring that sits at the center of his chest. The trail of leather extends down from the bottom of the ring, a direct line to another ring that rests against his cock with more bands connected to wrap around his hips and between his legs.   
  
“Male honeybees don’t have knots like human Alphas do, but what he _can do_ is leave behind a plug. He does this so that he may fertilize a larger proportion of his queen’s eggs,” Mischa explains as she pulls the last object from under her arm. And there it is: a _plug_. It’s shaped like an Alpha’s cock but not nearly as big. There is even a bulge near the base like a knot. “Usually they self-combust in order to do this, but we will spare my brothers that part. Male honeybees have just the one opportunity to be with a mate in their _entire life_. My brothers have greater purpose than that.”  
  
“It’s not embarrassing to you to talk about your brothers having sex,” Will observes as he takes the plug from her open palm. He can tell that the only embarrassment he feels is his own. “To offer your brothers’ mate a _sex toy_?”  
  
Mischa laughs. “Is it embarrassing to the bee?”  
  
“I guess not,” Will says and he grimaces as he feels the spill that slides from his pussy. That seems more a shame to him.  
  
He props one of his feet lightly against the knob of a handle on a cabinet. He pivots his leg out wider and bends his knee, sliding the plug relatively effortlessly into place. His pussy stretches slightly around the fake knot, but with its size and inability to swell, it won’t stay like a knot should. He takes the harness fully in his hands and, as he lowers his foot from the perch on the cabinet, he slips it in between two straps.   
  
“Sex doesn’t have to be a shameful, forbidden thing,” Mischa says as she helps him with some of the buckles. “It has many uses. For red-winged blackbirds, every male that a female has had sex with becomes an asset in her defense if her nest is attacked.”  
  
Will still blushes lightly as he slips his cock through the lowest ring and the leather strap between his legs leaves the plug with nowhere to go, no room to slip out again. But he thinks of his nest in the other room and he has no doubt that it is well-guarded. He and Mischa finish the last of the straps and buckles and, when they’re done, it’s a perfect fit, sitting flat against his skin without too much slack or too little give. As Mischa slips the robe back over his shoulders to layer over the harness, there is a thud and a crash from the other room, and Will bolts towards it without a second thought.  
  
There in his nest, Duncan has his hands at Nigel’s throat as his brother thrashes to shift him and Hannibal is seconds from leaping into the fray.  
  
“Duncan!” Will calls out as he crossed the room quickly and climbs into the nest.  
  
As Will approaches the side of Duncan’s body with the most scars and marks, the Alpha’s hand flies out to grab at him. Duncan’s grip finds its place around one of the leather straps and he _pulls_. Will is lurched in close and takes the Alpha's face between his palms.  
  
“I’m here, sweetheart,” he says as he brushes his thumbs against the downturn of his mustache. “It’s okay. You can let go.”  
  
Duncan releases his grip on Nigel but holds fast onto Will.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Duncan,” Nigel spits as he sits back towards the edge of the nest and rubs his neck as he stretches and rolls it. “Don’t you recognize your own _fucking_ brother? Your _triplet_? Do you recognize your- _fucking_ -self looking in the _fucking_ mirror?”  
  
“ _Nigel_ ,” Will scolds. “Let Hannibal take a look at your throat to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
Nigel huffs a breath and lets Hannibal touch clinical, professional fingers against the red of the faint bruises that bloom around the scar at Nigel’s throat. It only takes a moment for Hannibal to decide that Duncan hadn’t done nearly as much damage as he could have. He sighs and climbs out of the nest to reluctantly grab a loose cigarette from the table and give it to Nigel with a lighter. Nigel takes the cigarette and lights it quickly, pulling a lungful in despite the reflexive clench of his throat. He manages to hold the smoke in long enough to reach the window before he blows the cloud of it outside.  
  
“Mischa,” Will calls out, still keeping his eyes on Duncan as his expression relaxes but the Alpha’s fingers are kept tightly curled.  
  
“Yes, Will,” Mischa answers from over his shoulder. She doesn’t sound breathless or anxious, only curious.  
  
Will drops one hand to set it on top of Duncan’s curled fist, not trying to shift it or loosen it. “Do you know where the rest of my clothes are?” he asks.  
  
“I’ll bring them to you,” she agrees. “Do you want your breakfast brought here too?”  
  
“No, thank you,” Will answers.  
  
He kisses Duncan’s cheek and hums against the skin scratchy with hair that at least needs a trim. As the humming sound rumbles through his throat like a purr, he imagines it shaking away any remaining frazzled nerves. His sigh is louder than the exhale Duncan gives, but he knows they feel just about the same.  
  
“I’m going to eat some breakfast with everyone else,” Will says as he pulls away and looks between his three mates. “Try to not kill each other while I’m gone.”  
  
“I’ll come with you,” Duncan states as he finally loosens his fingers.  
  
“No, stay,” Will says and presses another kiss to Duncan’s cheek. “You deserve to get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”  
  
He can feel how they all hesitate – everyone, but Mischa, who leaves without another word but still with a smile on her face. Although it was only a little more than five days with them all together, Will and his mates have become used to being together. The absence of the heat gives the memory of the frenzy a rosier tint, a sense of nostalgia. By comparison, this crisper light is a harsher adjustment. It’s a contrast that will help them to ever willingly have another heat ever again. The expense of energy needs both fond memories and anticipation as its fuel. It’s a bit like birth that way.  
  
Will would hate to disappoint his mates. Disappointment leaves a sour, acidic taste in his mouth and belly. It would be so _easy_ to agree and stay with them in the coziness of the nest. But his stomach grumbles and even Hannibal looks tired and weary.  
  
“You all stay here or else I won’t let you back in when it’s time for a nap,” Will teases and Nigel’s scoff is the only laugh he can hear, but he doesn’t have to hear it to know how both Hannibal and Duncan twitch their lips towards a smile.   
  
His mates are all asleep again by the time Mischa returns. The clothes she brings him didn’t come from any suitcase he or Hannibal had anything to do with packing, but are _similar enough_ to the clothes he used to wear. Rather than a button and fly, his pants have an elastic waistband to be more forgiving of where the leather and buckles sit on his skin. He tries to trap a moaning, panting breath behind his teeth as bending his legs to put on his pants shifts the plug inside him, rubbing pleasurably and unrelentingly as if it really were a remnant of his mates.  
  
As he stands up again, the pendant knocks against his throat. He buttons the lightweight, long-sleeve shirt Mischa brought for him but leaves the top two unbuttoned to let the ring on the choker and the inlaid queen bee show. Mischa waits for him outside the door when he’s finished and she smiles and her cheeks pinken at seeing some piece of her work on display.  
  
She leads the way as they walk down hallways and stairs back to the great big table. It’s not as full as it had been before at dinner. Will is late. Most people have already eaten what they needed and moved on. Even so, there’s still plenty of food on the table, all as delicious as it had been when it was brand new and still nearly as beautiful. Will gives himself a little bit of a lot of it and he and Mischa sit together across from Alana and Margot as they sip at the last of their coffee.  
  
“Is there anything else on the agenda today that I should know about?” Will asks, looking at the latest person to finish breakfast and leave the table.  
  
“The last ceremony will happen after you and my brothers have gotten your rest,” Mischa reassures as she pats at his elbow. “Our community welcomes you in your role and appointments to the council are officiated.”  
  
Will rolls his neck and feels it crack as he swallows. The rub of the leather against the healing wounds aches. He touches his fingers along an edge that presses against a ridge of scar left behind by a tooth. “Should I have met the council _before_ I bonded?”  
  
“The council cannot dictate who the broodmother is,” Mischa says. “That is for you and Nature to decide.”  
  
“I’m on the council though?” Will questions. “Automatically.”  
  
“Yes,” Mischa continues. “You assume your place as you embody our tradition.”  
  
Will’s head spins and it’s not just the aftermath of his heat. The days he spent with his mates seemed suspended in time and place. The four of them existed together on their own and it gave Will space to realize more about them and about _himself_ with them. There had been no thought to the world beyond his door and certainly no thought of _politics_.  
  
He rubs across his forehead and down across his closed eyes. “I clearly know the least about how anything works.”  
  
“I’m teaching you,” Mischa emphasizes. When Will opens his eyes, she has one raised brow and her lips are pursed slightly. “As it is my job to do.”  
  
“I just mean–“ Will starts. He hesitates and considers how to express just how _out of his depths_ he feels. Alana and Margot have lowered their coffee cups to the table and turned their attention more fully towards him. He flinches at the thought of their scrutiny. “Wouldn’t it be better if the people who have the information already and already make decisions just…keep doing it?”  
  
“The rest of the council gives you the information you need to make decisions,” Alana tells him. Her tone is cautious and clear in her intent to soothe him, but Will feels rankled.  
  
“If they’re feeling helpful,” he grumbles.  
  
“You and your mates will comprise more than half of the council, so you’ll already have more than half of the information at the very least,” Alana tries again. This time she has a more teasing smile.   
  
“Which position do you think they’ll take?” Margot interjects and Will’s just glad she asked so he wouldn’t have to. It feels like a question he should know the answer to but hesitates to feel confident that he really does – particularly when he’s not sure he even remembers all the things Hannibal listed. Though there is one he remembers clearly…  
  
“I assume Nigel would want protection,” Alana suggests.   
  
“What about Duncan?” Margot counters. Her tone holds some sharpness but her voice is _so soft_. “He has an eye for that sort of thing.”  
  
“That’s true,” Alana agrees with a nod. Her forehead wrinkles in thought. “I’m not sure what else Nigel would do though. He doesn’t have the patience for _education_.”  
  
“Maybe infrastructure?” Mischa offers with a shrug. She doesn’t seem too invested in any direction. “Hannibal might want food.”  
  
“Wouldn’t Hannibal want medicine?” Margot argues. “He’s a doctor by profession, not a chef.”  
  
“I don’t know that he’d want to replace Bedelia,” Alana suggests.  
  
Will’s attention bounces between the three of them. He absorbs every piece of insight the three women give so readily when his mates have been so reluctant to reveal it themselves. His questions only sometimes get full answers and these were the things he never even thought to ask.  
  
Margot scoffs and rolls her eyes as she says, “It’s not exactly like Mason will take being replaced particularly well either.”  
  
“Your brother needs to remember that we value _loyalty_ over _power_ ,” Mischa says with no small amount of disapproval as she touches the pendant that hangs against the airy cotton of her dress.  
  
“I don’t know why you bother to pretend he listens to anything I have to say,” Margot replies coolly.  
  
Alana’s eyes look over Margot’s shoulder and then dart away to her cup and, even though it’s empty, she picks it up to fiddle with the handle. “Speak of the devil,” she whispers.  
  
Margot doesn’t have time to turn around before there’s an arm slung around her shoulder and up to press against the side of her neck. It’s as rough and juvenile as the tug of the man’s hand at Margot’s hair at dinner. The man’s own hair is as unruly as the look in his eye and the spread of his smile when he looks down at Will.  
  
“Well, if it isn’t our most prized sow,” the Beta man says. His voice and tone are lilting like mischief.  
  
“Mason,” Margot admonishes softly, eyes flitting quickly between Will and Mischa, who for her part looks particularly _miffed_ with her wide eyes squinted and cutting so sharp. “That’s no way to talk about our broodmother.”  
  
“ _Oh_!” Mason exclaims as if he’s only just remembered he might have manners. “I only mean it in the most affectionate way, Margot.” Mason looks back towards Will with a tilt of his head and an exaggerated expression that might be the man’s theatrical version of thoughtfulness. “I’m sure Margot has told you that I have a passion for pigs and breeding.”  
  
Margot had told Will nothing, really. She has only mentioned her brother in disapproving vagaries. But looking at Margot, Will knows nothing good would come from saying that. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says instead and looks at the other Beta man who stood by Mason’s shoulder with a little more grace – or at least the illusion of it.  
  
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting our mysterious new mother,” the man says with a taunting, almost _flirtatious_ turn of his lips and wrinkle of his brow. He holds in his arms a bouquet of flowers that he hands to Will as he introduces himself: “ _Frederick Chilton_.”  
  
“There’s no use sucking up, Chilton,” Mason goads. “ _Mommy_ and _Daddies_ only love _each other_ very much.”  
  
Instead of smirking, Frederick’s lip snarls. “I’m sure Will understands the need to keep things running smoothly.”  
  
“If you value things running _smoothly_ ,” Mischa suggests, “then you will have no problem _stepping down_.”  
  
Frederick’s frown only deepens. “The whole process is _rife_ with _nepotism_ ,” he argues, looking at Will and it takes Will a moment to realize Frederick might be looking _to_ him.  
  
Mischa looks at him too, but with a look that _gives_ instead of _takes_. “In baboons, when mating between one of high rank and one without, the mate assumes a high rank for the duration of the bond,” she explains. When she looks back at Frederick, it’s with much less generosity. “I shouldn’t have to tell _you_ that.”  
  
“Nature evolves,” Frederick argues. “When it needs to.”  
  
Will can sense the tension in the air and he feels it like a loud clamor. Mischa and Frederick are like cymbals clashing and Mason and Margot are the beat of a mallet against a tight drum. Will just does his best not to flinch. The benefit of being a loner has been never getting in too many arguments that he has to _stay in_.   
  
“What is it you do?” Will asks Frederick, a deflection as much as a genuine question.  
  
“Infrastructure,” Frederick says proudly. “I make sure this place doesn’t fall apart. You think that’s something Nigel can do?”  
  
“No,” Will agrees. He smirks as he thinks of his agent of chaos who is made of too many vibrant, broad strokes to have a care for minor details. It wouldn’t bode well for Nigel to be _bored_. Will knows it the same way he knows it wouldn’t bode well to encourage Duncan to think he needs to always be checking every corner. “Duncan should do infrastructure. He knows how to make sure everything is taken care of around here.”  
  
Mischa hugs her arm around his waist. “See?” she says, a whisper in his ear. “You can make decisions just fine on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one was maybe not as fun as the last one, but hopefully y'all still liked it! :)


	8. Chapter 8

The last of his ceremonies was more like a wedding than Will ever expected to have. Weddings were redundant and superfluous for Omegas and Alphas — a sign of enough wealth to show off _plus_ some. Will grew up as far from that kind of life as there could be. But still, he somehow ended up with something that included many of the aspects of weddings that Will understood to be common.  
  
They wore specially made outfits while they stood in front of a crowd comprised of friends, family, and community members. His dad would not be “giving him away” but there were figureheads bestowing their domains onto him and his mates. Will expected some objections but, as Mischa had reassured him, the process ran fairly smoothly. No one made any grand declarations or even said a word out of line.  
  
But they didn’t have to say anything for Will to _feel_ the dissent in the ranks. Will could still feel the tension and the resistance as rings were slipped onto his finger and his mates’ one-by-one. If this was his wedding, most of his in-laws seemed ecstatic with the match while some might still not think he’s good enough. Whether that would be _good enough_ for their _golden boys_ or his role on the council was impossible to tell.  
  
Will twists the ring on his finger as he sits with the other council members in one of the castle’s many, many rooms. This one is just as splendid as the rest, if not a little more austere, perhaps to reflect the seriousness with which everyone seems to take the duties that take place within these walls.  
  
“Mason has requested to build an expansion on his farm,” Hannibal announces to the group.  
  
“Is that needed?” Bedelia asks.  
  
Will looks up when she speaks, but he’s not sure what he’s looking for. Her face is so careful and neutral that sometimes she makes _Hannibal_ seem expressive. Her status as an enigma and her unflinching beauty may make her the most intimidating person he’s met yet. The perfect curl of her ethereal blonde hair and the even tone of her voice are so _pleasant_ that they somehow put him on edge.  
  
“Our supplies are perfectly adequate for our current population,” Hannibal concedes as he folds his hands together. “Mason made it a point to make sure I knew that we may not currently have room for growth.”  
  
Will feels the sting as all eyes turn to him: each holding their own tone, intensity, and intention. He tries not to blink his eyes too _obviously_ anxiously and tries not to duck his head too low. He can feel how they’re thinking – _considering_ – with meaning and understanding that shift in ways he doesn’t know enough to comprehend. He might understand where it starts but doesn’t know where it ends.  
  
“Would we hire outside of the community?” Tobias asks.  
  
If Bedelia was the most inscrutable, Tobias was the one in the room whose eyes most clearly showed _scrutiny_. Will doesn’t know if he should be grateful that the scrutiny doesn’t seem to only be of him. Tobias seems to take his commitment to education to mean he should study _everyone_ – just in case he might want to instruct them. That he thinks he can scrutinize and instruct Hannibal and Bedelia makes Tobias less seem less intimidating and more _foolish_.  
  
“It’s possible,” Hannibal says and Will can only see the slightest hint of reluctance in the infinitesimal downturn of his lips. “Some who already work on Mason’s farm could do some of it, but at the very least we may need some supplies delivered here.”  
  
“Some of mine could help,” Duncan contributes with his voice that rasps like it never gets enough practice to get used to making sound. “The ones who do repairs and build anyway.”  
  
“It may be possible to do most of the work ourselves,” Tobias says. “The council should remember it will take _much_ _longer_ that way.”  
  
“There’s hardly a rush,” Bedelia reminds them. “Seems there will be plenty of time for many eyes on the project.”  
  
Nigel flicks a lighter and watches the flame as he impatiently awaits when he can finally use it to light a cigarette. “I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on anyone who _does_ come in.”  
  
All eyes – except Nigel’s – flicker over to Duncan, including Will’s though he looks for a different reason and purpose – the _opposite_ reason and purpose, in fact. He knows what the others are thinking. All of his mates are quick to make their assessments, but there’s no question about who is quickest to size up a threat. And Hannibal might come second.  
  
“I trust Nigel to handle what he needs to," Will declares, finding his voice almost by accident. He wonders if it sounds as unpracticed in being used as Duncan’s does.   
  
“Trust,” Bedelia repeats. The word sounds out differently in the room when she says it, pulling attention to his choice of words and holding it out for all to see with hands that are soft and pristine. “We’ve invested our time in building walls and made sure no one can climb them.”  
  
“I worry that we may have made Mason feel powerless,” Hannibal remarks as he looks between Will and Bedelia. “This could be a case of killing two birds with one stone.”  
  
Bedelia turns her attention away from Will as she asks, “Shall we vote?”  
  
After the vote, they all disperse back to the rest of their daily duties. Hannibal will likely return to the kitchen. Nigel might walk the perimeter again. Duncan might join him under the guise of checking that the brush has been cut _just_ the right amount to be inconspicuous.  
  
As Will exits, he’s struck with the odd recollection that he’s maybe supposed to be getting ready to go back to school sometime soon-ish. He should be thinking about packing his bags for his second year. But that life seems so far away from here and so impossible to ever really return to. He won’t go back to classes in lecture halls. Here he will learn things he otherwise never would.  
  
Rather than sit in a classroom with many others barely listening to a lecture, he lies with Mischa out on a blanket in the stretch of grass within the walls and gates that surround the castle. They stare up together at the clouds as they pass through the sky. The sun warms his skin and closes his eyes to ease the glare.  
  
“Why aren’t there many kids around here?” he asks when the air feels too quiet, not even any wind to interrupt it and no rambunctious yells from children. Although there are plenty of adults in this community it seems, there have only been a couple of children seated around the table at mealtimes and no babies. Mischa seems to be the only one obviously pregnant.  
  
Mischa hums before she answers: “I’m sure you’ve noticed that most of us are Betas.”  
  
Will looks over at her curiously. “Yeah.”  
  
“Bees have a gene – a sex-determining gene – and if a queen mates with a male who has the same version of the gene that she does then, instead of birthing daughters and a few fertile sons, half of her eggs hatch out sterile sons,” she explains as she closes her eyes. “The genes that determine Omega, Alpha, and Beta seem to function somewhat similarly – at least for us. We don’t all share the same mother, of course, but Betas are our sterile sons – or _mostly_ sterile.”  
  
“And I’m supposed to cause some sort of _baby boom_?” he asks. He thinks about how they’d all looked at him during council – and _when_ they’d looked at him. He touches the queen bee that sits preserved for all time, hanging against the base of his throat.  
  
“It’s not _only_ your responsibility, but you are likely to have many more children than the rest of us might hope to have combined,” Mischa says. “Many of us try for years with very little hope for any success.”  
  
He watches her as she lays a hand against the curve of her belly. She smiles as she traces the rise of it with her fingers. He watches her and feels the wonder and awe as she feels it, how the movement of her hand is memorizing the feel of something hard-won and something that’s been hoped for but never promised.  
  
Mischa opens her eyes and looks back at him. The pink of her cheeks is still very faint, no threat yet of burning, but _there_ enough to make her eyes look that much bluer. “Do you want to feel?” she asks him as her smile widens.  
  
Will nods and leans towards her, letting her take his hand and guide it where she wants it. Joy bursts out of him in the form of a laugh as he feels little fists or feet kick back against his fingers. It’s strange to feel something on someone else that he’s so used to feeling within himself. Only feeling the movement from the outside gives him a strange sense like an echo of nostalgia.  
  
“I’ve missed it,” he confesses, as he presses his hand in a mirror image on his own belly. It’s much flatter than hers. He still only has the barest hint of a rise between his hips. But, even so, he knows – mostly from instinct and experience – that his mates’ pups are growing and thriving underneath his palm. “It’s only been a little while but I’ve missed it this whole time.”  
  
“You’ll have it again soon enough,” she reminds him as she squeezes his fingers in reassurance. She wrinkles her nose with open affection. “So many little feet to keep you company.”  
  
Will sighs and the breath comes out faster than he meant it to. “I’m sorry that it’s easy for me and hard for you.”  
  
She tsks her tongue at him in quiet admonishment. “There’s no need to be _sorry_.”  
  
Will pulls back both of his hands to rub against his closed eyes until the orange he sees comes from the press of his fingers instead of the glare of the sun. His vision blurs when he opens his eyes again and he has to try to blink it away until it’s clear. “No one ever thought it was a _good thing_ that I could get pregnant so easily and _so much_ until I met Hannibal and came here.”  
  
“Now it’s everything we wished for,” Mischa says.  
  
Will hears a few footsteps just before Nigel drops down next to him on the blanket. He lays on his side tipped towards Will and leaned back on his elbows. He looks charmingly casual in his airy short-sleeve shirt and smiles at Will like he was always supposed to be there.   
  
“You’re _interrupting_ , Nigel,” Will remarks sarcastically, but it’s undermined slightly by how he laughs.   
  
Nigel notices, of course, and only smirks more. “Are you keeping secrets?”  
  
Will looks back over to Mischa, who simply smiles and shrugs. “It’s up to you,” she says and he should have known she would.  
  
And so he simply looks back towards Nigel. “Will you be able to keep your hands reasonably to yourself and mouth reasonably quiet?”  
  
“Now you know me,” Nigel answers as he tips his chin and raises a brow, each just a little. It’s the weakest impression of dismay Will has ever seen. Probably because he isn’t really trying.  
  
Will gives a small huff of a laugh. “Why don’t you come stay with me tonight and your hands and mouth can do what they like then?”  
  
Nigel rolls back to lay flat and stares up at the sky. “Isn’t Duncan planning on hogging the nest again tonight?”  
  
Will sighs. Duncan has stayed with him every night since they bestowed bondmarks onto each other and there’s nothing surprising about Nigel feeling jealous. “If this is your way of asking for alone time, try another way.”  
  
“It seems like you’re suggesting _Duncan_ asked,” Nigel remarks like it’s such a strange thought. “But I must be mistaken.”  
  
“He wouldn’t,” Will agrees. Though it hardly seems like it should be necessary at this point, Will still reminds Duncan every evening that he’s welcome to spend the night in his nest. “You would. You just don’t _want_ to.”  
  
“You sure are getting a taste for being in control, aren’t you, darling?”  
  
Will props himself up on his elbows so that he can get a better look at his mate as he says, “It’s my job to make you happy forever, not just happy for now.”  
  
Nigel looks at him out of just the corner of his eyes, which squint as much from incredulity as from the sun. “Is that what Mischa’s been teaching you?”  
  
“That’s what your mother has been teaching me,” Will says in a way that is both true and kind. Affection soaks into the tone of his voice as he remarks, “Her advice has always seemed to be particularly helpful where you’re concerned. Almost like she knew you particularly well.”  
  
This is the only time when Will has looked at Nigel and seen something _wounded_. It’s the soft blur of happy and sad that smooths the lines of his face. He doesn’t smile or frown, doesn’t furrow his brow or raise it. It’s almost _calm_. Will longs to show his appreciation through the press of his lips to the planes of Nigel’s cheeks or his lips but he wouldn’t want to risk disturbing the quietude. His kiss would cast a ripple just when Will wants to admire the rare stillness.  
  
A shadow crosses in front of the sun that shines against Nigel’s face. It creates creases where there were none and has Nigel’s eyes blinking to adjust to the lack of light. Will sighs as the moment is lost and tries to savor the memory of it while he can still remember how it feels and it’s not too diminished by the stretch of time.  
  
That the source of the shadow would be Mason makes him twice as unhappy to see it. Mason stands there above them with the sun struggling to shine through the mess of his hair and with a piglet wrapped in a blanket in his arms. Margot, of course, is there hovering next to him and the light shines down the smooth, long length of her hair.  
  
“Hello, Mason,” Will says and tries to not sound too disappointed. “Margot.”  
  
“Hello, Will,” Margot greets quietly in return.  
  
“This is Pavlov,” Mason says as he holds up the little piglet. “Say hello, Pavlov. Will, say hello to Pavlov.”  
  
Will holds back a frown and the furrow of his brow. Instead, he finds it in himself to at least give the little piglet an attempt at a smile as he says, “Hello, Pavlov.”  
  
Of course, Nigel doesn’t hold back anything: _“What do you want?”_  
  
_“What do I want?”_ Mason repeats back, though in a much more musing, lilting sort of way. He seems to ponder it like Nigel was inviting deep, philosophical reflection rather than jumping down his throat. “What do I want? I _want_ to share something with you, _Mother_ ,” Mason says, zeroing in on Will.  
  
“I see,” Will says as he watches Mason jostle the piglet again in his arms. It’s such a patient little thing, just going along for the ride.  
  
When Mason quickly gets bored, he drops that little piglet into Margot’s arms. He brushes off his hands as he continues, “Papa was a pioneer in livestock production. I think he’d be proud of my efforts.”  
  
“The council approved your expansion today,” Will informs him. “Hopefully that gives you some confidence that we still value your voice and your _efforts_.”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Mason remarks. “The _expansion_ built to match your _expansion_.”  
  
Nigel’s elbows dig harsher divots in the blanket as he sits up straighter. “I beg your pardon,” he says like a warning.   
  
“Mason, we should go,” Margot says as she shifts on her feet and shifts that little piglet in her arms. She’s controlled enough not to show any semblance of worry beyond that, but Will can still hear it in her voice.  
  
“Mason,” Nigel interjects as he shifts up further until he’s no longer leaning back at all. “You should stay. _Definitely_.“  
  
“ _Breeding_ was very important to my father,” Mason declares as if there is nothing amiss. “We all expect Will to be prolific. We’ve waited a long time for this mother. We wouldn’t want a _dud_.“  
  
Nigel rises to his feet in a sudden, but graceful shift of muscles that ends in a _lunge_. He grabs hold of Mason, who staggers and stumbles. Nigel bunches the fabric of Mason’s shirt in his grasp as Mason lifts up his arms in surrender and laughs _and laughs_.  
  
“The attack dog has taken quite a liking to his duties,” Mason says with another chuckle – right in Nigel’s face.  
  
The stillness to be found in Nigel now is nothing like the calm before. Instead, it is the calm that comes before the storm. There is the heave of breath in and out like the gusts of wind threatening to pick up. “It occurs to me that everyone else might prefer to act like they don’t hear you, but _playing pretend_ isn’t _my_ idea of a good time.“  
  
Mason’s smile only spreads wider as he tips his head back like he might threaten to laugh again. “I enjoy this _big talk_ as much as anybody, but it’s not nearly as _fun_ when we both know there’s nothing you can actually _do_.”  
  
Nigel releases Mason from his hold and pulls out his gun. “Are you sure?” Nigel asks and the clicks as he loads it punctuate his words. Once it’s done, he grabs another fistful of Mason’s shirt and yanks him forward to loom over him and press the gun to the center of his forehead. “Do you want to find out if you’re right?”  
  
Will knows Nigel would kill Mason in an instant. To Nigel, it would be just like anything commonplace, felt and forgotten in the blink of an eye. Nigel would get no lingering satisfaction from it any more than he would when washing his hands of the blood. It would be a waste.  
  
“ _Nigel,_ “ Will calls out.  
  
As intent and deadly as Nigel is, he pauses as soon as Will calls for him. _“Darling,”_ he responds as if simply casual and curious.  
  
_“Don’t,“_ Will tells him. “This isn’t the way we should do things.”  
  
Nigel huffs. It's a reluctant sound, but acquiescent. “Welcome to limbo, Mason,” he says as he lowers the gun and loosens his fingers. “Don’t get too comfortable. It’s not your final destination.” He leans in closely and drops his voice deep and low, almost would be a rasping whisper if not for how it’s would be a very poorly kept secret. “I’ll be along soon enough to hasten you there.”  
  
Nigel takes a step back and unloads his gun. “I guess I’m off then,” he says as he tucks his gun away again and straightens his hair with practiced moves of his hands. The look he gives Will when he looks back at him confirms just how little satisfaction Nigel would have gotten from the whole thing. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See you later,” Will agrees.  
  
When Will _does_ see him later, Nigel seems to be about the same as when he left. He bursts into the room as soon as Will cracks the door open. Will is still left closing the door behind him as Nigel quickly pops each button on his shirt through its matching buttonhole. His shirt is on the floor and he’s stepping out of his pants by the time Will has managed to cross the room again.  
  
Duncan, for his part, is already settled into the nest – though it’s hard to say he seems fully _settled_ when he still tends to sleep in his daytime clothes and even his daytime clothes are still more suited to winter than to summer. It seems that when Will’s heat faded, so did the excuse Duncan gave himself to sleep nude.  
  
Nigel catches Will in his confident, steadfast grip before he can crawl into the nest. Nigel’s hands reach up to brush back Will’s hair like he had his own. He doesn’t let the strands slip free of his fingers to fall where they will. He only digs them in deeper to keep Will’s hair held back and out of the way. Will watches as Nigel’s eyes examine his face, looking for _something_ , though Nigel himself might not even know what exactly.  
  
Will reaches up to gently touch at the edge of the bite he laid at Nigel’s throat. His finger skims along the bottom of a band of leather and over the spot of scar tissue that very nearly overlaps with the knee of the woman tattooed there. “Ask for what you want,” Will reminds him.  
  
Nigel’s fingers tighten further in his hair until it threatens to pull _too hard_ and Will leans into the hold. He steps further into this mate’s space and presses himself against his chest. Will’s chin tips up as he insists, _“Ask for it.”_  
  
Nigel’s lips start to smirk as he asks, “If I fucked you now would I be putting another pup in you?”  
  
“You could be. I don’t know exactly how it works,” Will admits. No doctor could ever answer him and he’s only seemed to learn in something not entirely unlike a trial by fire. “Do you want to?”  
  
Nigel uses his hold to bring their mouths harshly together, almost knocking their teeth against each other. He kisses like it’s a finite resource that he has to collect and stock up on and there may never be enough. Will bends to him and lets him _take_ until he has to pull away with a gasp for air.  
  
Nigel doesn’t let him go far and keeps their foreheads tipped together. “You are no _dud_ ,” Nigel murmurs and Will can see the corners of his mate’s teeth out of the corner of his eye. “No matter what that _fucker_ tries to say.”  
  
“I know, babe,” Will soothes. “He’ll get what’s coming to him someday. How can I make you feel better _right now_?”  
  
“Get in the nest,” Nigel tells him and it’s close enough.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He lays down next to Duncan, who touches a hand to his shoulder and drags it across his chest to feel the leather around his neck and the bites underneath. Will can see that there are thoughts collecting and compiling themselves in Duncan’s mind, but he’s guarded enough to not show what those thoughts actually _are_. Will turns over on his side and presses himself back against Duncan’s body until his mate curls around him. He pats the open space in front of him to urge Nigel to slot into his place.  
  
Nigel climbs into the nest and presses against Will’s front, chest-to-chest. Nigel grabs at his ass with one hand to pull them as close together as they can be. Will is again caught and captured between the press of his mates’ bodies, contrasting forces that work together. Will absorbs the cold chill cast off of Duncan at his back and the way Nigel feels like the punishing red flush of sunburn. Nigel’s hands on his skin nearly _sting_ with the drag of his tight grip, while Duncan’s touch feels the way cold makes use of every nerve ending. Will lets these feelings collide and swirl within him, following Nigel’s mouth and meeting him kiss for kiss. He swallows down heated inhales and he breathes out the solid certainty that Duncan imbues in the press of his lips against where Will’s neck meets his shoulder.  
  
Will kisses with the affection he’d felt for Nigel earlier, but now there’s no risk of disturbing any peace and there is only contentment to gain. He strokes his thumbs against the smooth skin along Nigel’s cheekbone and down into the dip of his cheek. His hum is one of pleasure as Nigel’s hands ease in their grip on his ass and drift to hold more gently at his hip. Nigel’s kisses get sleepier and more relaxed with every press and Will smooths one more hand through his hair to coax him to rest. Once Nigel’s eyes slide closed for the last time tonight, Will reaches back to lightly scratch his nails against Duncan’s scalp.  
  
As Will’s eyes slip closed too, it’s to the feeling of the last soft presses of Duncan’s lips and the prickle of his mustache against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to not do too many of the "here's a line from the original thing" but sometimes I like to give a little wink and a nod. Feel free to let me know if it's too annoying, though.


	9. Chapter 9

The kitchen smells _amazing_. Hannibal has food in the oven, more food sizzling in pans on the stove, and _even more_ food chopped and prepped on the plethora of counter space. Hannibal cranks a kitchen timer and Will can hear it click and tick when he sets it on the counter. Hannibal returns to placing individual fish into some sort of gelatin, while Will nabs bites of various odds and ends within his reach on the counter. Hannibal’s eyes blink between his task and Will’s hand. There’s no annoyance or frustration hidden in his eyes even as Will disturbs his carefully prepared ingredients. They both know that this happens often enough for Hannibal to account for Will’s grazing when he measures everything out.   
  
“Do you think you’ll visit Bedelia soon?” Hannibal asks as he carefully places his next tiny little fish into whatever it is that he’s making.  
  
Will scoffs as he picks up another grape. “I see her enough at council.”  
  
Hannibal’s movements are kept subtle and careful except for how his lips jump with a smile. “I meant _personally_ , not _professionally_.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Will shifts in his seat on a stool at the counter. It used to wobble but Hannibal saw to that quickly. He started using it when simply standing became too tiresome. His belly’s growth is quick. He’s gone from something only sort of there to something that might sometime fairly soon match Mischa even though she’d gotten a substantial head start. He rubs his hand over his shirt that clings and stretches around the curve, but only just a little too much. It never seems to be a problem to provide him with bigger sizes, but he’s not used to such seemingly endless resources.  
  
He remembers the first time he was ever pregnant, he’d tried to hide it. He didn’t want to disappoint his dad and knew a _pregnancy_ certainly wouldn’t make him well-liked at school. But when he grew too big too quickly, he soon found there was no hope for hiding anything. The Louisiana heat had been unforgiving of sweatshirts and even if he could stand to wear one, the curve of his belly would still have undeniably stretched against it and made everything all too clear.  
  
He feels the eyes on him here with the same frequency and number as he did in what used to be there. Some eyes even have some of the same tones and tenors as the ones he remembers feeling like old habit. But there are many, many others who look at him in a way he’s never had before. The dissonance of the happiness he might feel and how unsettled he is to feel it has him feeling dizzy some days.   
  
“I wasn’t planning on going to see her,” Will says as he rubs a hand along the curve that presses into his lap. “You know I’ve learned how to go without _doctors_.”  
  
“You did that when doctors had nothing to offer you. You are not a one-off wonder to us,” Hannibal observes in that tone of his that lilts with satisfaction and curiosity – _whimsy_. “Besides, Bedelia would find it _polite_.”  
  
“Fine,” Will concedes. He can’t imagine this is a battle he will want to fight for years to come, which makes it hardly seem worth it to even start. As much as he might want to relish only experiencing the careful observation and touch of his mates, he knows Bedelia isn’t one to be trifled with. “Do you go with me?”  
  
“We will all go with you, if you want,” Hannibal assures him.  
  
“Do you think Nigel would care about a doctor’s appointment?” Will questions with a laugh as he pops another grape in his mouth. He thinks Nigel would be perfectly satisfied with a picture and an _“all good.”_ The rest of the appointment might not interest him very much. Will doesn’t blame him. If he didn’t _have to_ be there, he wouldn’t go either.  
  
“I doubt it,” Hannibal agrees. “But I think he would care about being told he could.”  
  
Will hums and switches to nibbling on bits of carrot. “That’s true.”  
  
“Good,” Hannibal says. “I’ve asked Alana for an appointment later today.”  
  
“Of course you have,” he remarks sarcastically. “When? So I can tell Nigel.”  
  
“Four,” Hannibal says as lowers his hands to lean against where his palms press onto the corner of the counter. “Duncan is finishing early today.”  
  
Will eyes land on the way the muscles and tendons in Hannibal’s arms showcase themselves with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Earlier, he’d watched the fabric of that shirt stretch and shift as Hannibal pressed the air out of pairs and pairs of lungs. Will licks his lips as his eyes trail next across the width of Hannibal’s shoulders.  
  
“You’d be infuriating if you weren’t so charming,” he says. His eyes linger on the bondmark that stands out in how Hannibal’s shirt collar opens with the top button undone and how it contrasts with the band of leather against his throat.  
  
Hannibal knows without Will having to say it that he should set down his little tweezers and come around the counter, so naturally that’s what he does. As he approaches, neither of them blink or look away – a staring contest, a game of chicken, but somehow an _affectionate_ one. Will watches him and doesn’t blink his eyes away no matter how much habit and muscle memory might direct him to do otherwise.  
  
Hannibal comes to him and bends to him as Will extends himself up towards him. He tips his head back and lets Hannibal run his thumb over his bottom lip. Will imagines he can taste on his skin the many spices and marinades his mate has been preparing today. His mouth waters in anticipation of how _delicious_ it all will be.  
  
When Hannibal’s thumb does its last gentle drag, Will reaches up further to finally close some distance and bring their mouths together. He kisses Hannibal with the hunger he feels in his core that has _nothing_ to do with anything food can satisfy and Hannibal kisses back with that same hunger. It’s the kind of hunger that comes from wanting to fill a space deep within that struggles to ever feel fully satisfied. It’s somehow all the more enticing when, at the very least, it can feel satisfied for a moment. The sizzling he can hear on the stove matches the sizzling he feels underlying his skin. He can also feel that Hannibal pulls away not because he wants to but because something might burn.  
  
“What was it you made me the other night?” Will asks as he watches Hannibal turn away to check everything over.  
  
“ _Lomo saltado,”_ Hannibal answers with a small smile at the memory.  
  
Will had come down the many, many stairs in the middle of the night with only the intention to get a snack of some sort. He’d started feeling particularly sick when he was particularly hungry and just needed something to tip him back in a more settled direction. Duncan had come downstairs with him but returned to the nest when they found Hannibal already in the kitchen. Duncan knew for that moment that he wasn’t needed.  
  
Will helped Hannibal a little bit as they cooked, but Hannibal did most of the work. Even though it was the very, very early hours of the morning, his mate still made sure the plate was beautiful when he presented it. After they finished their meal together, Will returned to the nest and brought Hannibal back with him.   
  
“Make me more of that,” Will says. “I liked that.”  
  
“Happily,” Hannibal agrees as he tips open each oven door to peer inside.   
  
Will looks over at the pan with the fishy gelatin that sits jiggling and congealing. “And move whatever that is farther away. I know what you make is beautiful and wonderful and _complicated_ but looking at that makes me feel sick.”  
  
Hannibal nods his head quickly and subtly and gracefully scoops up the pan in his hands. “I should put it in the refrigerator anyhow.”  
  
Hannibal sets the pan in the fridge, moving aside bottles of beer and wine – other things Will won’t be touching. Will is hit in that moment with the worry that strikes him every so often. He’s started to worry that Hannibal might start to find things lackluster. Duncan is perfectly fine without his prior _activities_ and Nigel can find just as much trouble to get into here as he did there. But Hannibal left behind a business, a social circle, pastimes, and events.  
  
Now, he cooks and they spend time together reading and discussing the books from Will’s quarters and Hannibal’s bookshelves. Hannibal socializes with his brothers and Mischa, as well as Bedelia and Alana from time to time. Will just wants this life to be as rich for Hannibal as his previous one.  
  
“Thank you,” Will says and he tries to not let his voice wobble and betray him. “I’m glad you brought me here and that you’re here with me.”  
  
Hannibal’s fingers still carry a touch of the chill from the fridge as he cups Will’s chin. “I’m glad to hear it.”  
  
“I want to make it worth your while,” Will says and it can only come out soft as a whisper for how hard and _vulnerable_ it is to say.  
  
“You’re well underway, my dear,” Hannibal says as he tips Will’s head up.  
  
As Hannibal looks down at him, Will feels as flayed open as some of the food Hannibal prepared. Hannibal has a way of peeling back the layers and reducing Will to the person he was when he cried out in loneliness in his dorm room. Hannibal doesn’t do this to him all the time – _thankfully_ – and gives him breaks to flex some of his fledgling self-assurance. But every so often, Hannibal makes sure to expose old wounds so that he might practice his own kind of healing.  
  
Hannibal at least doesn’t hold back his physical affection anymore. He leans down to meet Will again and when Will presses back, the hunger has an edge of _desperation_. He grabs Hannibal’s shirt, bunching it in his fists at Hannibal’s waist. He spreads his knees wider to urge Hannibal in between them and it’s with Hannibal’s indulgence that he goes where he’s guided. The brush of thumbs against his cheeks does help him feel as though he’s being pieced back together again. Hannibal continues to kiss him and reassemble him with such indulgence until the _ding_ of a kitchen timer.  
  
Later, when the clock ticks over to just about four, Will finds himself sitting in Bedelia’s living room. She doesn’t have a waiting room or a separate office, but the sense of decorating in her home gives the impression of a sterile environment. Duncan looks just as out of place as Will feels – a dark cloud in Bedelia’s wide, open skies. He sits next to Will on the couch with the perfectly plumped pillows. Will has been afraid to lean back against them. The depression he might leave behind in the cushions feels damning. This is a far reach away from the dark, coziness that suits Duncan best. When he stands up, the pillows will be like casualties.  
  
Will slouches over in his seat and leans his temple against Duncan’s shoulder. “We have to _try_ to feel excited,” he tells his mate. “This _is_ exciting. We’re seeing our _pups_.”  
  
“Nervousness is just another flavor of excitement,” Hannibal remarks as he sits with legs crossed and hands folded together. He’s the pinnacle of poise in a navy chair that doesn’t even have arms to lean on. Hannibal levels Duncan with a particular look when he adds, “Like fear.”  
  
Duncan shifts like the shift of a mountain or an iceberg over time, but that he _does_ shift is what counts. He moves a hands to sit heavy on Will’s knee and Will quickly takes hold of those strong, capable fingers to press them instead on the curve of his belly.   
  
Duncan’s lips tip towards a smile. “I’m excited.”  
  
Will sighs as he tries to calm the racing of his heart and gives his own small smile. “Me too.”  
  
“I see Nigel decided not to join us,” Hannibal observes when the clock somewhere in Bedelia’s house chimes to announce the start of the next hour.  
  
“No,” Will agrees as he holds tighter to Duncan’s hand. “I’ll be seeing him later.”  
  
Hannibal hums, but it was too expected for it to come from disappointment. “Very well.”  
  
Bedelia enters the room with Alana trailing slightly behind her. Both of their hair and their clothes are styled in similarly elegant ways. Alana’s hair is darker along with the deeper red of her dress, while Bedelia’s crisp blonde hair is as light and pure as the light blue of her own dress.  
  
“Shall we get started?” Bedelia asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Will says even though he’s not sure he feels quite ready. “Sure.”  
  
Will, Hannibal, and Duncan all stand and follow Alana and Bedelia down the hallway. Bedelia leads the way and Alana hangs back to linger closer to Will and Duncan.  
  
“How have you been feeling, Will?” she asks.  
  
“Good,” he answers. “Normal.”  
  
“How so?” she asks. The tip of her head and tone of her voice are casual but the wrinkle in her brow isn’t.  
  
Will shrugs as he rubs his hand against his belly. “Feels basically the same as it always does.”  
  
“The more descriptive you are, the more helpful we can be,” Alana says softly and Will wouldn’t say that has been his experience with doctors before. But he doesn’t think he should say that.  
  
She looks up towards Bedelia as they approach an open door. The room beyond bears a striking resemblance to what Will thinks he should expect of an ordinary examination room. There’s a raised kind of bed and various equipment and many, many drawers that he assumes hold more.  
  
Bedelia gestures to the bed and states, “If you would.”  
  
Will doesn’t need Duncan’s help getting up there, but he accepts it anyway and it does make him less clumsy. He watches Bedelia watch Alana as she moves towards some of the equipment, but Bedelia doesn’t lift a finger herself. Hannibal also watches over Alana as she works. When she slips some sort of device onto Will’s finger, Hannibal taps his knee. Will uncrosses his legs and the knock of the heel of his shoe against the table makes him feel like a little kid again. When the thing on his finger beeps, Hannibal tips his head to look at the number. Meanwhile, Will’s more concerned with the bigger machines, particularly the one with a screen.  
  
“Have you ever had an ultrasound before?” Bedelia asks.  
  
“With my fourth pup,” Will answers. He blinks away to look down at his knees when he says it. There’s something that pangs in his chest at the acknowledgment of all the pups that came before. Saying it feels different in present circumstance and company. “They did one every day in the hospital. They were worried about the delay.”  
  
“Was there ever any distress?” Alana asks carefully.  
  
“No,” Will says with a shake of his head. “Everything always has gone smoothly more or less. Their checking was partially motivated by wanting to keep the pup alive and partially morbid curiosity.”  
  
Alana’s forehead wrinkles further as she frowns in professional disapproval, but Bedelia is as unsurprised and unruffled as always.  
  
“Hannibal tells me they never explained your condition to you,” Bedelia says like an observation and nothing like a question.  
  
“They never knew _how_ to explain it,” he emphasizes. “There was nothing they knew to say.”  
  
“Alana,” Bedelia instructs. “Would you like to?”  
  
Alana pauses in collecting any more of her measurements and takes a seat on a rolling stool. Her eyes are clear and intent as she looks at him head-on. “Normally for an Omega, ovulation and heats happen concurrently. The body primes itself and motivates you to act on that priming in what essentially amounts to _clinical sex mania_ ,” she explains. “There are two types of clinical sex mania in nature. In type one, there needs to be a lot of stimulation to get pregnant and, in type two, the concern isn’t providing enough stimulation but monopolizing time to ensure all the offspring in a brood are their own.”  
  
“I’m type one?” he guesses.  
  
“There are a lot of type ones in the world: lions, female rats, golden hamsters, cactus mice,” Alana says with a smile. “There are then nuances within that type. Rabbits and ferrets won’t release an egg without proper stimulation, while rats release eggs spontaneously but won’t _stay_ pregnant if there hasn’t been enough stimulation.”  
  
“I-“ Will starts as he looks up at Hannibal and tries not to see Bedelia out of the corner of his eye. “I still don’t understand.”  
  
“It is a fraction of a fraction,” Hannibal says. “As you are the tip of the root at the bottom of a tree of varying possibilities.”  
  
“Your _hypersensitivity_ may be as much physiological as psychological,” Bedelia states, a pronouncement of the highest professionalism and expertise. “Your body will experience amplifications and escalations that are more intense than most. _Sometimes_ the sensitivity will be strong enough to ovulate and the more minor fluctuations will occur _often_ enough to maintain the pregnancies.”  
  
Will looks down at the belly in his lap and touches his hand to it. It feels different somehow – more real and less. It’s strange to have answers to questions when he never thought he would. It had seemed so impossible for so long. He’d gotten himself so convinced that he would never know that he now finds it hard to believe. Before it was a nebulous thing no one quite understood and now this mystery that was once just his own has become _clinical_.  
  
He suddenly wants to go back to his nest. He wants to curl around the heaviness that has settled in his chest and do so where he’s safe and warm. He doesn’t want Bedelia’s perfectly decorated walls and pristine equipment. He wants to be where he’s seen how his mates see him.  
  
“Why don’t we take a look?” Alana suggests quietly and softly as she touches a gentle hand to his forearm.  
  
Will just tries his best not to flinch away.  
  
A stronger, firmer, heavier hand lands on his shoulder and drags across to press a thumb against one of the glands in his neck. The glands aren’t as desperately swollen as they used to be. There’s no need for his body to cry out quite so desperately for an Alpha. He already has plenty of bites in his throat and plenty of mates who will provide and protect. Still, the touches of fingers have his muscles slumping and his head tipping to look up at Duncan.  
  
“It’s exciting, remember?” Duncan says and the sound of his deep, rasping as he says _exciting_ makes Will smile and laugh.  
  
The laughter knocks loose whatever anxiety had tied itself in knots deep in his chest. He gives a sigh, but there’s also a nod and another smile. Duncan’s hand guides him to lean back and Will keeps his eyes on him as he goes. He only closes his eyes for a moment to recall what Hannibal had said about fear and excitement. When he opens them again, Hannibal looks his usual careful, composed self.   
  
Even though he still feels somehow more vulnerable than he should, Will still pulls up the bottom hem of his shirt to make his belly bare for everyone’s inspection. He doesn’t cover it with his hands like he wants to. Instead, he takes Duncan’s hand again as gel is spread across his belly and a screen is switched on.  
  
As soon as the blurry little shapes take form and blink down at him in black and white, he’s mesmerized. It’s not that he’s never seen anything like it before but it’s that he doesn’t have any reason to hold back anymore. There’s no detachment that comes from knowing that he may carry the pups but he couldn’t _keep_ them. There’s no need to tell himself that they aren’t _his_. Before, any pictures that were recorded probably just went into his file and into research. They knew he didn’t have any reason to have them or anyone to share them with.  
  
That’s not true anymore. The rare glimmer in Duncan’s eyes and the smile Hannibal gives both make sure that he knows it.  
  
“Our own set of triplets,” Nigel says later as they lay together in the nest and look at the pictures Will brought him. He sounds equal parts smug and _awed_. “Triplets for the triplets sounds nice, don’t you think?”  
  
“It does,” Will says with a laugh. He presses his cheek against Nigel’s chest and lifts one hand to point at two of the pup-shaped blobs in the picture. “But actually these two are something called _semi-twins_ apparently. Bedelia and Hannibal explained it to me in the fancy medical words, but it basically seems to boil down to you and Duncan sprinting for the finish line and _both_ nabbing first place.”  
  
Nigel gives a laugh at that too and buries the tail end of the laugh in a kiss to Will’s hair. “Of course Hannibal gets to have one all his own.”  
  
“There will be many more chances,” Will says as he takes the picture from between Nigel’s fingers and rolls to his back as he admires it. “Based on how my pregnancies have gone in the past, Bedelia thinks I could start on three or four more in the meantime. But maybe just for safety, they should be fairly spread out.”  
  
Nigel turns towards him and presses a hand to his belly, no longer cold, slick, or sticky from the gel. “You’re expecting me to only fuck you _three or four_ times in the next however long?”  
  
“Six months,” Will corrects. He stifles a whine as Nigel starts to nose at his neck. Will knows by now means that teeth, tongue, or lips will quickly follow. “And you can still fuck me but maybe it will force you to get _creative_. And maybe then if you prove yourself, you’ll earn yourself another pup in my belly.”  
  
Nigel decides to go with _teeth_ as he sets them against Will’s skin in a near-perfect match to the scars etched into Will’s neck – just upside-down. Nigel had bitten him from behind, after all. With his jaws spread wide, they drink in each other’s scents. Will knows his scent must be changing as his body shifts and changes to accommodate their pups. Only Hannibal might be able to tell him how he smells different this pregnancy as compared to his last.  
  
Will moans and grabs Nigel by the back of his head to push his teeth in harsh enough to merge pleasure and pain. He tries to keep his other hand gentle to not crush the photo in his palm, but his legs shift fitfully as his cock starts to beg for friction. Nigel’s hand on his belly is electric, making his nerves fizzle as if static ran through them.   
  
“Nigel,” he whines and though he _desperately_ wants to let Nigel have his way, he tugs on his mate’s hair.  
  
Nigel’s breaths come out rough and panting and as he pulls back, Will can see the fire starting to burn in his eyes. “What, gorgeous?”  
  
“It should be a fair fight.”  
  
When there is a familiar series of knocks at the door, Will pushes back against Nigel’s chest, both to create some temporary distance and gain some leverage to heave himself out of the nest. When he opens the door, the rest of his mates are there waiting for him as he’d told them to. He nods his head back and to the side in greeting and they pass by him as they enter his space.  
  
He sets the photo in his hand on the table and watches Hannibal start to smile when he sets his folded jacket beside it. Will touches the expensive fabric as Hannibal’s vest and tie join it and he can hear the clinking of belt buckles and the thud of shoes hitting the floor.  
  
“What are you waiting for, gorgeous?” Nigel asks when everyone else must be nearly nude and Will’s still there distracted and fully clothed.  
  
“I’m not sure,” Will admits. He taps his fingers against the grain of the wood. He pulls in a deep breath as he turns towards his mates. He flits his eyes from Duncan to Nigel and lets them linger on Hannibal. “I suppose I’m _curious_ if you all could resist the urge to knot.”  
  
Nigel sits up in the nest and rests his arm across his bent knee. He drags his thumb against his bottom lip as he furrows his brow slightly. “And why would we do that, darling?”  
  
“Because,” Will says and, as he licks his lips, he feels the taste of the words he says next as he says them: “Because I don’t think I’ll want to have to wait for a knot to go down.”  
  
Nigel scoffs, but Will can both see and hear that it’s not because he’s upset. The look in both his and Hannibal’s eyes might make them seem _impressed_. He walks over to Hannibal and presses his hand to the edges of the bite he laid at his mate’s throat. His fingers tap lightly downwards and touch at the wasp that sits preserved for all time, stinger and all.  
  
“You can do it, can’t you?” he asks as he studies Hannibal’s face. “Use your restraint for good.”  
  
Hannibal’s smile is tilted slightly but his eyes shine with pleasure. “It is my belief that it is always for the greater good, my dear.”  
  
Will hums as he steps closer still. “Maybe then I shouldn’t indulge you at all,” he says. His tone is musing but he feels the sharpness of his teeth against his tongue. “Maybe I should make you wait longest. Make you wait until the end and _still_ deny you your knot anyway.”  
  
“If that’s what you wish to do,” Hannibal answers, as cryptic as ever.  
  
Will can feel the ferocity building in his chest the longer Hannibal seems unbothered. He finds himself wanting to tear at Hannibal until he is flayed open as he has done to Will and he finds himself wanting to do nothing just to _spite_ him.  
  
The distance between them is only enough for a whisper. Will leans in so that Hannibal might be able to know the bite against his tongue too. “You can sit. Touch yourself. Get yourself ready for me,” he instructs. “Do that while you _wait_.”  
  
Hannibal nods and takes his seat as he’s told and Will returns to the nest where Nigel won’t have to wait too much longer. Will climbs in and kneels on his knees in front of his mate. He kisses Nigel with a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. Those fingers trail down to the center of the Alpha’s sternum and he straightens them to push his mate backward. As Nigel lies back, Will’s fingers travel further down his middle to circle his cock as it starts to swell and twitch.  
  
Will spreads his thighs to create space for his belly as he folds over in two to reach his mouth towards his mate’s cock. He licks a line along the length of it and then another. He licks until he notices the jerking, little movements in Nigel’s fingers that tell him it won’t be long until those impatient fingers are buried in his hair as a cock is buried in his throat. Nigel grunts in protest as Will pulls his mouth away, but Will shushes and teases him with light strokes of his fingers.  
  
“Duncan,” Will says as he turns his neck as much as he can to look over his shoulder. “I think it’s your turn, sweetheart.”  
  
He catches his mate’s nod out of the corner of his eye and returns his mouth to the task at hand. Duncan’s fingers curl around the elastic of Will’s underwear as he helps to slip the waistband down his ass and past one knee, then the other. Duncan sets each of Will’s feet a little wider so that he might kneel between his legs.  
  
Will lets his moan create rumbling vibrations as he takes Nigel’s cock into his mouth and Duncan rubs against where Will is soaking wet and only gushing _more_. Duncan’s fingers are thicker and longer than Will’s own and still he desperately clenches around them as they’re pushed in deep. Duncan turns his wrist and touches and strokes until a gasp works its way up Will’s throat. Will has to lick in between his panting breaths until he can’t help but pause to whimper with the want to be filled even further.  
  
Duncan doesn’t keep him waiting and only pulls his fingers out for a fraction of a second before he presses in with his cock instead. Duncan’s powerful grip wraps around Will’s hips, some fingers tacky with drying slick, as he starts to thrust. He’s not too rough but not too gentle. He has the confidence of a man who has had his practice.  
  
Will can hear his grunts as he hears Nigel’s rasping moans and Nigel makes sure he won’t be distracted as he presses a hand to the back of Will’s head. Duncan shifts one hand to Will’s shoulder to anchor him in place as he quickens his thrusts. Will only has to keep still and revel in the slap of Duncan’s hips against his skin as he pushes in deep over and over. He only has to worry about the flex of his tongue and throat as he gives and receives pleasure like blood and air circulate through his body.  
  
“What a talented little mouth you have, gorgeous,” Nigel praises as Will gives his cock another long lick before taking it deep into his throat. Will feels the praise trickle down his spine and across his skin like the sweat that beads and leaves trails as it falls. “Only lips like those could manage to make it worth it that I don’t get to knot you.”  
  
Will’s cock is hard and throbbing and he tips his hips higher with a desperation for touch, even just a few rubs of his cock against something, _anything_ might be enough. He reaches a hand back to give himself some friction. With a particularly strong thrust and the touch of his fingers, sensation and pleasure collide as one and send him over the edge with legs trembling and breath fighting against the cock in his mouth.  
  
Will can feel the pull of knots as they threaten to swell in his pussy and against his teeth. Will pulls his mouth away to kiss and lick instead at the beginnings of Nigel’s knot – enough to please Nigel and sate Will’s want to please. Duncan is as diligent and dutiful as ever. He knows the temptation to knot and when it will be too much to turn back. There is a stinging stretch when he pulls back one last time. Duncan takes his hand away from Will’s shoulder and grips his fist around his knot as he spills inside of Will.  
  
That it’s not as deep and there’s no knot keeps Will from feeling fully satisfied but it’s a small price to pay in favor of having _more_ and _sooner_. As soon as Duncan’s cock no longer twitches or spills, Will pushes up on his hands and shifts his knees. He raises up to adjust and pivot as Nigel’s hand shifts from his head and Duncan’s from his hip to help him as he moves.  
  
His mates support him as he turns to face Duncan and shifts back to position himself over Nigel’s leaking, spit-slick cock. Sinking down onto it is easy when he’s already soaking wet and ready and open. Raising himself back up is more difficult with the growing weight of his belly and how his legs still shake with the last whispers of his orgasm. Duncan kneels in front of him to offer his steady shoulders as a brace. He kisses and licks at Will’s neck. His tongue dips below the leather of his collar to where his gland sits in order to help coax his muscles towards some sort of calm.  
  
When his muscles seem ready to cooperate, Will raises himself up on his knees and quickly sinks down again. Nigel’s knot still threatens to be _just about_ too much to be able to pull off, but Will takes the risk with each rise and fall of his hips. Nigel’s hands grab at his ass in rough handfuls as Duncan lets his mouth trail down to lick over one of Will’s nipples. Will gives a stuttering, choked-off moan at the attention and sensation and his head lolls to the side.  
  
He catches sight of Hannibal, touching and stroking himself just like he was told. No matter how much Will wants to squeeze his eyes closed and focus on the pleasure that only seems to build more and more, faster and faster, he instead holds eye contact with his mate as steady as he can. He matches the stroke of Hannibal’s hand with the movement of his hips and the touch of his hand to his own cock. He moans openly and loudly the way he wishes Hannibal would. He can see the faint flush of Hannibal’s skin from his chest and up to his neck as he holds his pleasure confined in his chest. Will longs for it to burst forward so that it might take them both.  
  
When Nigel’s knot threatens to be too big and swollen to do anything but lock them together, Will releases his hold on his own cock to instead curl as much as he can around his belly and grip around Nigel’s knot. He holds the knot carefully but firmly as he feels it strain and throb with the pulse of Nigel’s cock and the desire to plug. As the knot swells more and more, it spreads Will’s fingers as it becomes too big for him to even hope for his grip to contain. He can hear how Nigel hisses at having his knot exposed to open air instead of cradled inside Will’s body.   
  
Will’s knees start to ache and wobble again with the desperation for another surge of his own pleasure. He whimpers in protest as Duncan easily shifts out of the hold of his arms but he nearly yelps with surprise and satisfaction when Duncan takes his cock in his mouth. His breaths jerk from his chest and up through his throat as he feels how Duncan’s nose brushes against the lowest curve of his belly.  
  
When his orgasm comes for him again, he feels affection blooming unexpectedly alongside the expected desire and arousal. His fingers are clumsy in Duncan’s hair as he lets sweat-soaked strands pass between them. Duncan’s cheek is scratchy against the smooth, sensitive skin of his belly but that only makes his adoration _keener_. Nigel sits up to press his chest against Will’s back and loops his arm around his chest to rest at the top of his belly.  
  
“Help me onto my back,” he whispers. He can just barely hear the roughness of his voice once his heart no longer pounds quite as loudly in his ears. _“Please.”_  
  
The touch of his mates’ hands and strength of their arms serve him when his own muscles one again falter and protest. As they lift him off of Nigel’s cock, he feels how seed and slick spill without a knot to keep it in place. As they lay him on his back, he uses his fingers to gather what has spilled out and pushes it back in again.  
  
Will smiles when he sees how Hannibal looks. His hair has fallen from his usual careful style and his stomach heaves with rebellious air. He looks at Will with a glint in his eyes that burns red-hot. Nigel and Duncan move away to give them space as Hannibal stands to prowl towards the nest. Will might be his mate’s prey but he won’t scamper or shy away.   
  
“You don’t finish until I finish,” Will tells Hannibal as he climbs to loom over where Will is vulnerable and showing his belly. “And I won’t finish until you fuck me _right_. I want you _wild_ and will accept nothing less.”  
  
Hannibal’s kiss is nearly _brutal_ as if taking hold of Will’s mouth for himself. Will meets him in his ferocity with teeth that bite at Hannibal’s lip until he nearly draws blood. Hannibal's hands push Will’s thighs wider open as he settles himself in between them. He’s quick to push into Will’s hole. His thrusts are wild enough to meet Will’s demands, but he’s still careful and in control enough to not risk harming Will’s belly or the pups held within.  
  
Will licks across the salty sweat that beads at Hannibal’s neck and smells the heady scent of his mate at his purest. He pulls some of the skin at Hannibal’s throat in between his teeth and sucks long and hard until there’s sure to be the blossoming of a purpled bruise come morning time. Even with the collar and bondmark, Will still feels an insatiable desire to mark his mate and declare to the world over and over again that Hannibal is _his_.  
  
His pleasure takes longer to build having been rung out of him twice already but Hannibal’s roughness only helps him to merge the pain of his sensitivity with his desire for _just a little more_. He doesn’t even want to touch his cock for how it would feel like too much and lets Hannibal pull his pleasure from him with only the push and pull of his hips. Hannibal is as diligent as he is ruthless in his pursuit of making Will come one last time for the night. He doesn’t slow or falter as Will’s nerves burn and spark and catch fire.  
  
Hannibal remembers himself enough to know not to knot and, like his brothers before him, pulls out just enough and with just enough time to spill inside Will but not knot him. Will can hear wheezes of breath as they finally force themselves from Hannibal’s lungs and he revels in how they sound so very nearly like a growl. He feels _claimed_ with pups in his belly and more to join them and there with his mates who might tear anyone limb from limb if they were senseless enough to try to pose a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my Duncan lovers out there who might be sad that Duncan has been largely silent in these past two chapters, please know that the next chapter is mostly about him. I'm trying to be balanced in how the boys get attention. Feel free to let me know if you think someone is being left out, but also please know it might be because an upcoming chapter is focused on them. 
> 
> Also, big shout out to Shirlisa for listening to my ideas and helping me make decisions, including giving me the semi-twins idea. If anyone would like to hear my random ideas and give your input, feel free to send me a message on [twitter](https://twitter.com/transcryptidone). I can't promise I'll do what you want but I'm always happy to have folks to talk to :)
> 
> Lastly, I did another foursome! And tried to make it different from the last one! I'm not sure how well I overcame that challenge, but I hope you liked it.


	10. Chapter 10

“Sweetheart.”  
  
Duncan hums in acknowledgment. The hum is quick but deep and Will feels it as much in his palm as in his ear. He scratches his fingers against the hair that decorates his mate’s chest — not to arouse or distract, just to appreciate. Just like he appreciates how Duncan’s middle pooches slightly when they sit up and together like this and how it seems so human and so _soft_.  
  
Will stripped his mate of his sweater the night before and then before they fell asleep took it for himself. It’s the only clothes either of them are wearing as they lounge together in the nest. The sweater is large enough for the sleeves to fall down around his hands and for the neck, shoulders, and chest to hang loosely. Meanwhile, Will’s belly has grown big enough to make the fabric stretch and cling.  
  
The window lets in enough midmorning sun for Duncan to read his book without having to get up and turn on any lights, which is good because Will wouldn’t have wanted to let him go. He feels Duncan’s soft, hesitant happiness like he feels the warmth of the light on his skin. As the weather has gotten cooler and cooler, it’s been nicer and nicer to have someone or – _someones_ – to hold close and Duncan has become easier to convince than ever.  
  
“What are your thoughts on dogs?” Will asks.  
  
“I don’t need a dog,” Duncan answers.  
  
Will hums and looks up to study his mate’s expression as he asks, “What if I think you do?”  
  
“I don’t,” Duncan states. “You just want a dog.”  
  
Duncan’s eyes still scan the page of his book with his glasses positioned just right on his nose. Will buries his smile against his mate’s chest as Duncan turns a page. The next page includes a large drawing of how an Omega would look pregnant with one pup at around the halfway point. Will hasn’t had much experience with that – or _any_ experience with that really. He’s never carried just _one_ pup from start to finish.   
  
“And if I do?” Will asks as he raises a brow.  
  
Duncan grunts and closes his book. The title – _What to Expect When Your Omega’s Expecting_ – is written in blocky letters and simplistic colors on the cover. Will smiles and shifts himself with little adjustments of his shoulders and hips until he can sit up a little straighter. He holds one hand to his mate’s stubbly cheek to steady it so he can firmly press a kiss to the other one, just a little over and to the side of his mustache.  
  
“Where would we get a dog?” Will asks. “I always seemed to just find them when walking around.”  
  
Will remembers the stray dogs left to wander the trailer parks, boatyards, and backcountry he grew up in. Some of them would have collars, some of them wouldn’t. He’d always wished he could keep them, especially the hungrier looking ones, but his dad always said no. _No keeping dogs or pups._  
  
“I’ll go into town,” Duncan tells him as he slips the glasses from his nose and folds them to set on top of his book.  
  
“I’ll go with you,” Will says as he takes everything from Duncan’s hands and places them behind him, somewhere off and to the side of the nest. He then twists himself back towards his mate. Duncan’s hand had followed every shift of his back that whole time. “I’ve never seen _town_.”  
  
Duncan pauses and goes quiet. His hand on Will’s back pulls him closer. After the pause lingers a little too long, he states: “That might not be wise.”  
  
Will scoffs quietly and furrows his brow. “Do you expect me to believe that I’m being held captive?”  
  
“No,” Duncan sighs. “I said it wouldn’t be wise.”  
  
Will continues to look at his mate with unrestrained curiosity. Sure, it doesn’t seem like people go to town all that often – they rarely seem to have a _reason_ to – but Will knows it happens from time to time. Hannibal seems to go the most often out of anyone.  
  
“Why not?” he asks as he leans into Duncan’s hold on him and presses closer to his mate’s body until his mate cradles his belly in both big, broad hands.   
  
Will hums and tucks his face in towards his mate’s neck as their pups start to wake up underneath Duncan’s touch. Over the past couple weeks, he’s felt more and more of the little movements he’d been so envious of. They still aren’t as strong as they will be, but, even so, he can see how Duncan’s mouth has both the urge to smile and frown in competition. Habit always seems to be the tiebreaker.  
  
“It’s safer here,” Duncan states as he starts to frown.  
  
Will traces one finger along the line of the scar that travels the center of Duncan’s chest hidden amongst the hair. “Are you doubting your ability to protect me?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The word rumbles through Duncan’s chest and twitches at his fingers and Will wonders if it doesn’t make the pups kick _harder_. His pups no longer need to kick out in search of the affection and protection of an Alpha or to encourage Will to find one. He already has an Alpha — and _three_ Alphas at that. Maybe Will is trading pups that react to an absent Alpha to ones that react to a familiarity that is growing. Or maybe that’s just Will projecting.   
  
“I’m getting you your dog,” Duncan says gruffly. “You stay here while I do it.”  
  
Will rests his hand over Duncan’s, which rests over the swishing hands or feet of a pup, and considers that this may be the clearest time Duncan has really asked anything of him. Duncan _gives_ quietly and graciously. He never wastes a word on asking for recognition – and Will wouldn’t make him have to ask for that anyway. There has been no reason for Will to hold back on his praise or appreciation and, though he may have reason to stand his ground on this matter, it isn’t yet worth the cost.  
  
“Fine,” he agrees and Duncan looks so _relieved_ that it makes Will shiver and gives him goosebumps.  
  
He almost whimpers when Duncan moves one of his hands away, but it becomes something like a purr when it’s only to pull Duncan’s gifted blanket to cover them up again. In his nest, with his mate, under the warmest, softest blanket Will’s ever felt, in a castle down many winding roads hidden by forest, he can’t deny that he finds it nearly impossible to imagine a way to feel _safer_.   
  
Lulled by the comfort, he falls asleep for another couple of hours until the intensity of the sun makes the blanket _too warm_ and he wakes to the damp of sweat and the desire for some ice-cold water to wet his dry lips and tongue. He’s still reluctant to get out of the nest and he still has to ask Duncan to pull him up and out. He doesn’t want to take Duncan’s sweater off either but at least he doesn’t have to give it back yet. Duncan will indulge him by taking a sweater-less walk back to his own rooms that would be like a walk of shame if there was any shame to it.  
  
He kisses Duncan one last time before sending him on his way and is downstairs in time for the tail end of lunch. With the fall months well underway and the winter months coming up next, Hannibal seems to be leaning more and more into hearty meals meant to keep them full and warm. The room is a thrum of noise as almost everyone takes their break and even though most plates are empty, they linger just a little longer before returning to work. As Will portions himself some food from the many dishes and platters still remaining, he spots Randall give Mischa a kiss on the head before he goes on with his day.  
  
“Hello, Will,” Mischa says when he sits down in the seat Randall left unoccupied. She’s wearing another vibrant orange dress with a peach-colored cardigan and with the light blonde of her hair and roundness of her belly, she looks somehow like a summer sunset. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”  
  
“Duncan’s been dispatched on a mission to find us a dog,” he remarks as he spears some roasted vegetables on his fork. He hums as soon as he tastes them. They are made even more _delicious_ by how they ease his hunger.  
  
Mischa laughs as she raises her teacup to her lips. The tail end of her sip reveals her smirk and she says, “Seems my brothers have taken to spoiling you as well as you have taken to being spoiled.”  
  
“Seems so,” Will says, laughing too. He takes a sip of his own tea and hums as he considers. He bites his lip before he decides to admit, “Duncan has always taken well to providing but was much less comfortable with me actually coming along for the ride.”  
  
The way Mischa’s teacup hits its little saucer seems loud and harsh to Will’s eyes and ears, but when he looks around, it seems that no one else has taken notice. Mischa’s eyes are big and blue and deep and wide but not with wonder or excitement as she asks, “You wanted to leave our grounds?”  
  
“Yes,” Will says, but feels suddenly hesitant. “I’m not actually being kept captive, am I?”  
  
“No,” Mischa answers. “You can go anywhere you please.”  
  
“You say that but it doesn’t seem to match how you feel,” he observes and his brow wrinkles as thinks. “It must be something if both you _and Duncan_ are acting strange.”  
  
Mischa sighs and she rests her hand on his arm. She closes her eyes and takes another breath in and out before she says, “Duncan reminds me of my uncle.”  
  
Will tilts his head and blinks at her. “Really?”  
  
“After our previous broodmother was lost, her mates spent many years alone without her,” Mischa explains, her voice low and quiet like she’s afraid to say them too harshly or too loudly. “One never remated or married, but the other two eventually did. Robertas found Lady Murasaki and my father found my mother. But, no matter if they remarried or chose not to, my father and his brothers missed their mate terribly. It was a sadness they carried with them until they died.”  
  
Will thinks of the previous broodmother’s three wounded mates and their three wounded pups who became his mates and thereby became his wounds to heal. “What happened to her?”  
  
“My father only told me the story once,” Mischa explains. Her hand moves from his arm to take his hand and Will thinks this might be the only time he hears this story too. “He told me Simonetta loved to go to town and the town loved her back. People would make conversation with her and ask about her growing pups with the kind of wonder in their eyes that matched our own. Her family was growing and, with that, there was potential for acceptance and for our community to grow too.”  
  
Will closes his eyes and tries to imagine the scene as Mischa describes it. He’s never seen a picture of the person whose journal he’s been reading. He has been left trying to create an image from written word – what her voice sounds like, which of his mates’ features came from her. The image is still blurry as he envisions an Omega woman heavy with a litter being smiled at and appreciated by the locals of whatever would pass for a small Lithuanian town.  
  
“There were two men who talked to her every time she went into town,” Mischa continues. “They worked at the butcher shop and always gave her meat as a gift whenever they saw her. They brought it to the castle when she could no longer make the trip to town herself.”  
  
Will’s imagination shifts to include a showering of gifts. He remembered Mischa’s comment on just how accustomed he could get to receiving gifts and it made him consider when it stops seeming strange and when he might stop looking so hard to see what could be suspicious.  
  
Mischa braces her elbow against the table to give herself leverage to shift closer until they’re pressed side-to-side. “Then one day all too soon after my brothers were born, she disappears. Everyone was left motherless that day.”  
  
He opens his eyes and looks from her hand on his to her eyes. He can feel in her touch how desperate she is for him to understand, while he can also see in her eyes how she wishes he didn’t have to. “That’s why Duncan doesn’t want me to go to town?” he asks. “Why the council doesn’t want outside workers? Worries about deliveries?”  
  
“We don’t want to risk losing you when you’ve only just been found,” Mischa says and the tone of her voice _almost_ makes it sound reassuring. “You mean a lot to us, Will, particularly my brothers and I.”  
  
“Mischa—” he starts when he sees how her eyes shine and glisten with gathering tears.  
  
But she clears her throat once, very quietly but enough to interrupt, and wrinkles her nose to hide how she sniffles. “I wanted to ask you something.”  
  
“After all my questions?” Will says with a self-deprecating laugh like a scoff. “You can ask me anything.”  
  
“Randall and I were discussing the birth and I am wondering if you would be with me,” she says as she looks down towards her belly. She drops her hand to rub against the great roundness of it.  
  
Sitting together this way with their bellies next to each other fills Will with a soft sort of feeling he doesn’t know quite how to place. It’s a happiness that almost _aches_ , stretching into new unfamiliar territory and pushing against sore spots. Will laughs again when Mischa’s baby stretches out far enough and kicks out hard enough to kick against his belly too.   
  
“I would be happy to,” he promises her.  
  
Mischa throws her arms around him and hugs him as close to her as their bellies will let them. _“Thank you, Will,”_ she sighs into his hair and, as the breath and the sound tickle at him, he can feel how their curls squash together too. “It will be nice to be in the company of someone who has been through it.”  
  
“I’m an expert of some sort, that’s for sure,” Will remarks as he pats his hand against her back. “Though I’ve never been to any births other than my own.”  
  
“Something new for us to share in together,” she says as she pulls back again. “I should tell you that to have a broodmother attending a birth would be considered akin to a blessing.”  
  
“I can’t think of anyone who should be blessed more than you and your child,” he says and almost catches himself off-guard with how true and honest it is.  
  
She kisses his cheek and then touches her hand to it like she likes to. “You could become a doula of sorts if you wished.”  
  
Will smiles as he ducks his head. “That does sound kind of nice.”  
  
The sun is going down by the time Duncan comes back home again. Will has been sitting out on the front steps waiting for him. He changed back into Duncan’s sweater and brought one of the blankets from his nest – not one of his mates’ gifts, a blanket he could bear to let touch the ground. He tucks his nose into the loose turtleneck to breathe in his mate’s scent – hearth, home, and cigarettes.  
  
He smirks as he watches Duncan walk up carrying a dog in a cardboard box in his arms. A cloud of smoke billows out from his mouth as he smokes the cigarette perched between his lips. The dog’s head bobs above the edge of the box with Duncan’s steps, not bothered in the slightest by the jostle or the smoke.  
  
The cigarette falls from Duncan’s mouth in a way too coordinated and careful to come from surprise or nonchalance. There’s no risk of burning their dog, Duncan’s clothes, or himself. The flame and smoke fall down to the gravel and stone at his feet and get stamped out by the sole of his boot in short order.   
  
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Duncan grumbles once he’s close enough and the dog makes a little curious noise and tilts his head like he agrees.  
  
Will chuckles good-naturedly and moves to unwind the blanket from his shoulders and starts to rise to his feet. “I was waiting for you.”  
  
Duncan only hums and says, “Come inside.”  
  
Duncan shifts the box and the dog within it to being held just in one arm and offers the other to Will as an anchor to help get him upright. Will lets his mate have his arm back as they climb the many, many stairs between the front door and his quarters – he’s going to hate those stairs more and more the bigger he gets, he knows it.  
  
Once Will has closed the doors to his space behind them, Duncan puts the box on the floor. Though the wood isn’t particularly forgiving, Will sits down to take a closer look at the first of what’s sure to be many of their dogs. This one is a little, tan French bulldog. Will scrunches his nose as he smiles at the dog’s small, smooshed face.  
  
“So handsome,” Will praises as he carefully reaches out towards the dog with an open palm. When the dog sniffs at his fingers and neither bites nor flinches, he reaches further to scratch lightly at the top of his head. He looks up at Duncan as his mate towers above and asks, “What should we name him?”  
  
“I like dogs with human names,” Duncan states.  
  
Will hums as his fingers move down to scratch underneath the dog’s chin. “Like what?”  
  
“Like Rusty.”  
  
“You’ll get no complaints from me,” Will agrees as he watches the dog blink at him. The name does seem to suit the dog and seems to suit them as the dog’s owners. “Hello, Rusty.”  
  
Moving to stand is a challenge that Duncan once again helps him with. Duncan also does him a favor by crouching to lift Rusty from the box so that the dog can have their permission to explore. They watch Rusty sniff around the room and listen to his curious little snuffles.  
  
Will looks back to his mate and takes his hand to lead him back towards the chairs and the couch. He guides Duncan to sit in the same chair he did the first day they met and Will climbs to sit in his lap the way he had then. The move is not nearly as smooth as it had been. But the spread of his knees to bracket Duncan’s hips makes space for his belly well enough. He can’t press in as closely or be held in a hold that’s quite as crushing, but the touch of Duncan’s hands on his hips and fingers against the top of his ass feels just as nice now as it did before.  
  
He takes his mate’s face between his hands and brushes his thumbs against the stubble. He makes his mate look at him as he says, “Thank you, Duncan.”  
  
“You’re very welcome,” Duncan states as his hands drag up towards Will’s lower back.  
  
“Mischa explained to me why you don’t like the idea of my going into town,” Will tells him, keeping his tone as quiet and gentle as he can, but still _direct_. “I know that if I ever disappeared, you would find me. If I was ever at risk of needing to be saved, you would save me.”  
  
“I do not intend for that to ever come to pass,” Duncan states, his voice rasping and rumbling like thunder.  
  
Will takes a deep breath as he feels Duncan’s heart-pounding, righteous, deadly determination. Will’s hum is almost like a purr. “Touch my belly,” he instructs. “Feel our pups.”  
  
Duncan does as he’s told and places both hands on either side of the great swell in between them. Will smirks as the pups get excited and kick just like they had this morning. He curves himself around the curve of his belly as he leans in to kiss his mate. He encourages them both to lose themselves in the feeling of _right here_ and _right now_ and the contentment they have been nurturing and growing. He brings out some of the happiness in Duncan that’s just been the start of him fulfilling his promise.  
  
“Someday, I might want to insist on going to town. I can’t live only within the confines of the castle for the rest of our lives,” Will says as he pulls back but keeps careful hold of his mate’s face and doesn’t let him retreat or hide away. “We just have to know that things will be different this time. That’s the best way to heal.”  
  
He can tell Duncan doesn’t completely believe him, but still he replies, “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To folks who are reading both this fic and my new Duncan/Will fic (Dogs With Human Names), the next chapter of that fic will have Rusty too, so you'll be getting plenty of Rusty content 😂😂
> 
> Also, I think I'm going to start doing polls on my Twitter to help me make fic decisions, because I'm indecisive sometimes and that seems like fun. So, if you want to help me make decisions, take a look there. I'm not sure when I'll post the poll for the next chapter though because I have to decide first what to put as the options...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just want to give folks a heads up that this chapter is 95% porn and 5% plot. It includes the return of subby Will and Nigel _leans into_ the dirty talk. This also includes setting limits during sex/play (which is then praised and respected). If any of that is not your jam, feel free to read up to when the sex starts and then skip to the last two paragraphs (and a sentence).

The leaves under his feet crack and crinkle. The clouds in the sky are gray and numerous, threatening with snow that’s very much anticipated but still hasn’t come. Will dreads when the _real_ snow comes and he’ll hardly be able to balance with the shift of snow under his feet and a belly to contend with. When they’d gone back to Bedelia again, she’d confirmed that his mates, through their passion and their diligence, sired a fourth pup to join its already growing and thriving siblings. In comparison to the existing three, the new one hardly makes itself noticeable, but that Will and his mates know it’s there is what counts.  
  
Of course, he’s also comforted knowing that when the snow comes, he’ll have his Alphas to brace him. Even now, although Nigel and Duncan could be walking much faster — particularly Nigel — they keep pace and stride with him. His mates only offer occasional guidance as they walk deeper and further into the forest. Focused so much on placing one foot after another, Will has lost all sense of direction. Anyhow, he’s never come out this far.  
  
Those ominous clouds have hung over them through the narrowing spaces in between tightly packed, increasingly barren tree branches. At first, when Nigel and Duncan come to a stop, Will doesn’t know what makes this part of the woods different from the rest. They haven’t even told him what they’re doing out here. They just announced this morning that they had gifts for him and they’ve never given him a reason to turn that down.  
  
Then Will sees a series of cans sitting upright and spaced out along a fallen tree. Nigel reaches around his back in a move Will has become more and more familiar with. He lifts up the back of his light brown leather jacket just as Will has seen so many times before. But when he expects to see Nigel’s usual gun, instead there’s a revolver in his hand. And Will _understands_.  
  
He steps forward when Nigel flips the gun in his hand so the grip is facing outward. The metal is warmed slightly from being kept near blood and skin. Will feels the weight of it in his hand as he feels the faintest texture pressed into the otherwise smooth metal. He takes the gun in both hands and twists it. He reads the words embossed there as he smooths his thumb across each letter: _For my darling._ He flips over to the other side and turns it in his hands to read the complementary message: _Love forever, Nigel._  
  
When Will looks up towards Nigel, his mate looks the epitome of _bated breath_. Nigel holds the air in his chest the way he holds back his hope to avoid having it stolen away and dashed. As if Will would ever do such a thing. He takes the gun in one hand again and lets that arm hang at his side while the other digs its fingers into the leather at Nigel’s shoulder. Even with Nigel’s typically fairly-lax posture made stiff by uncertainty, Will’s mate still tips himself with ease where he’s guided.  
  
Nigel seems to remember himself quickly after their lips touch and Will hums as Nigel’s hands remember to grab at him. The drag of Will’s hand is just as greedy; so is the grip of his fingers in the hair at the back of his mate’s head. He lets the kiss last a little longer before he pulls back.  
  
“Until death do us _fucking_ part,” Will whispers with a hint of passionate _sharpness_ in his tone to match the passionate sharpness of his mate.  
  
Nigel’s hands soften as he smirks and he doesn’t cling too hard as Will pulls away. His fingers trail along the round surface of Will’s belly as he turns and pivots. Duncan fishes another gun out of his thick coat pocket. Its design prioritizes function over fanciness: a simple black and effectively deadly. The pistol might not have the words of affection written on them loud and clear, but it has a sentiment of love in how it speaks to the way Duncan always thinks of Will’s _safekeeping_ first and foremost.   
  
Will slips his fingers into Duncan’s hair just as he’d done with Nigel and Duncan is just as willing to bend to meet him. Duncan’s mustache might seem a little scratchier against his skin for how the cool air makes Will take a little more notice of his every nerve ending.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Will whispers, this reassurance a fair bit softer. He presses a kiss to the short, dark hair of his mate’s sideburn. “Has your gift been used before?”  
  
Duncan’s voice rasps as he says, “Yes.”  
  
Will kisses his cheek next – just once – before he pulls away, but keeps his hand in Duncan’s hair. “I hope it served you well.”  
  
Duncan hums. “Now it will serve you.”  
  
Will laughs and ducks his head. He holds up the gun in his hand next to the one in Duncan’s. “You’ll have to teach me first.”  
  
Will knows almost nothing about guns. His dad was – _is_ – a fisher, not a hunter. Sure, there was a gun hidden in a dictionary with a chunk of the pages carved out, but his dad never took him to shoot cans far enough out in the middle of nowhere that no one thinks twice about gunshots. At this moment, Will realizes just how long it’s been since he last spoke to his dad. They never exactly _chatted_ on the phone before, so it’s not rare to go without talking. But now, Will’s starting to wonder if his dad has wondered where he’s gone.  
  
Nigel reaches into his pocket and his hand emerges again with a handful of bullets. Will hands over his gift for a moment while Nigel shows him how to expose the cylinder and insert a bullet into each of the chambers. Will knows it will take practice for him to have that same sort of ease, but he tries to remember each detail as he’s shown it. His mates position his body for him next. With instructions spoken and imbued in their touch, they show him where to place his feet and how to shift his shoulders.  
  
“Always two hands,” Duncan instructs as he shows Will how to wrap his hands around the gun Nigel gave him. Duncan guides one of Will’s hands first and then the other. His tone and way of speaking are very matter-of-fact as he instructs, “One thumb there, one right there. Right?”  
  
Will nods as Duncan pulls his hands away and Will’s stay put. As always, Nigel indulges him with more touch than might be strictly necessary. He presses himself against Will’s back as he guides him to hold his arms high enough to look down the sights.  
  
“When you feel you have the target, you squeeze the trigger nice and easy,” Duncan continues in his instruction. “Got it?”  
  
Will keeps himself still as he says, “Got it.”  
  
“All right,” Duncan states. “Here we go.”  
  
Nigel catches the ricochet in his hand at Will’s shoulder as Will takes his very first shot – which misses what he was aiming for. His shot only lands close enough to ping off the side of a can so that it falls over.   
  
“Focus on your target, darling,” Nigel teases. “Duncan doesn’t need another gunshot wound.”  
  
Will’s scoff is just as teasing. He tries to not shift his shoulders too much from how he was arranged as he looks back towards Nigel and says, “I don’t know why you’re assuming he would get it instead of you.”  
  
Nigel only chuckles. Will’s words don’t deter his mate’s hands – emboldens them, really. Although Will’s hips haven’t shifted in the slightest, Nigel’s touch lingers there. He caresses upwards as the bones at Will’s hips disappear into the round swell of his belly.  
  
“Maybe we should work on your aim when you’re distracted,” Nigel says as his touch does its best to distract him – and that’s something Nigel particularly skilled at. “Seems easy enough to do.”  
  
Will raises his arms and does his best to ignore the movement of Nigel’s hands and the movement of pups underneath. As his finger curls around the trigger, he tries to embody the same precision that he knows fills Duncan from top to bottom. He feels the ricochet as a vibration through his being. A can _pings_ just after the initial sound of the gunshot fades.  
  
Will laughs in satisfaction. He feels the rumble of Nigel’s laugh as much as he knows he _won’t_ be able to hear Duncan’s. This first success emboldens him to try for a second. That one misses. He practices over and over and as soon as he might think he’s managed to get his aim pretty good, he switches between the two guns and has to get used to the difference. But Will is nothing if not adaptable. He’ll make sure to become as good at swapping between his mates as he does the weapons they’ve given him.  
  
Once he’s gotten comfortable, he switches between the two guns again. After firing the last of those rounds, he lowers the gun and trails his eyes along the twists and turns of flowers embossed in the metal. He exposes the cylinder the way he remembers Nigel doing it. The cartridges fall out into his palm as he tips it and presses against what Duncan had called _the extractor rod_. The cartridges clink against each other hollowly as he looks at them.   
  
“I want to play Russian roulette,” he announces.   
  
“Will,” Duncan says, his protectiveness coming out in how his voice is imbued with both sternness and caution.  
  
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Will soothes as he closes his fingers around the casings and smiles up at his mates. “Not like that.”  
  
Nigel smirks. “What sort of scheme have you come up with this time, darling?”  
  
“What is Russian Roulette if not a game of chance? Many chances, one bullet,” Will muses as he gives the empty cylinder a spin. He watches it slow to a stop and it clicks as he pushed it back into place. “You’ll have your many chances, but only one will land true.”  
  
“We’ve already had many chances, gorgeous,” Nigel counters. “Each time is a near-guaranteed gamble.”  
  
“You’ll fuck me however you want,” Will explains, undeterred. He rolls one of the casing in his palm until he can hold it between his thumb and his pointer finger. “When I come, you switch. Only one of you gets to knot me. The other wastes his shot.”  
  
“The total _fucking_ package,” Nigel admires as he slides the gun from Will’s hand, fingers knocking against each other as the metal passes by. He leans in close with a powerful intimacy that seems so palpable that it might give Will goosebumps. His lips hover _so close_ to touching Will’s as he praises, “You devious, little hell-raiser. You gorgeous, _fucking_ creature.”  
  
Nigel hands the gun off to Duncan, who dutifully tucks it away in the coat pocket that doesn’t _already_ have a gun in it. Duncan watches as, without any hesitation or second-guessing, Nigel turns Will with insistent touches of his hands and in no time has Will leaned against the great big and rough trunk of a tree. Will struggles to keep up with the momentum as Nigel’s hands can move with much more grace and coordination than Will can. It’s been too long since his belly has been this big, long enough to make it seem like he’s learning all over again.   
  
Will has hardly felt able to plant his feet firmly against the ground before Nigel’s grasping the waistband of Will’s pants. He yanks them down past his ass and even lower on his thighs. “I’m not going to prepare you much, darling,” Nigel murmurs in his ear. “Wouldn’t want you coming too quickly.”  
  
It doesn’t matter. Will is already soaking wet.  
  
Nigel rubs the bulge of his still-clothed cock against Will’s bare ass and he groans when Will tilts his hips to push back _more_. His mate teases him with a few more rubs of his cock, but he must decide that he’s had enough of waiting. As soon as he’s seemed to make up his mind to do it, Nigel has his own pants unbuttoned and they’re skin-to-skin.  
  
Nigel keeps his word. His preparation is the bare minimum. He delights more in slicking his cock by rubbing against where Will is wet and warm. When he’s satisfied, he pushes into Will slowly but unrelenting. Will gives a startled moan. It gets cut off by how he grits his teeth as Nigel sinks in as deep as he can. With so little preparation, Will has the feeling of being about as full as he could be.  
  
As Nigel starts to thrust, Will feels how it makes the cool metal of his button and fly knock against Will’s skin. Although to others it might seem like the opposite, Will finds that he and his mates retaining most of their clothes feels particularly _primal_ , like a quick fuck in the woods, like they could have been strangers who just happened to cross paths when a need struck and couldn’t be denied. Like animals all dressed up as something else but deep down, they’re still _just animals_.  
  
Nigel grunts in his ear when Will moans with another harsh thrust. He lolls his head forward to press sweat-damp skin against rough, unforgiving bark. Nigel nuzzles against the back of Will’s neck – _scenting him_. Nigel’s hands greedily groping and smoothing across Will’s body might leave Will’s scent covered with something seemingly smoked and burnt. It’s a scent that he’s come to associate with his mates in one way or another.  
  
“You really are _fucking gorgeous_ , aren’t you?” Nigel groans. Though Will can neither see it nor truly feel it, he still _knows_ that Nigel’s teeth are gritted harsh enough that they might soon consider biting through the leather against Will’s throat and sinking into his neck again. His hands slide under the fabric of Will’s shirt and sweater to stroke with open palms and eager fingers across the tight skin of Will’s belly. “You always have been _so fucking gorgeous_ , but when you’re carrying our pups, it’s something _special_.”  
  
Will _keens_. His cock throbs and begs for touch the more and more has Nigel touched _everywhere else_. His cock only becomes more and more demanding now that his mate lavishes attention on his belly. Even so, Will doesn’t move his fingers from where they grip the tree. He pants and squeezes his eyes closed and his knees bend and straighten, too strong still to collapse, but too overwhelmed to not wish for it.  
  
“You’ll only get more gorgeous the bigger you get, the more you carry for us,” Nigel tells him, a promise as much as it is a command.  
  
Will can only chase the _barest hint_ of friction. Everything seems so much more _intense_ the heavier he is with a litter. The blood, breath, and every nerve ending seemed keyed up to accommodate the hard work of forging multiple _somethings_ from nothing. The half-swollen knot presses against Will’s hole tauntingly as Nigel’s cock _almost_ fills him. It’s enough.  
  
Will gasps as Nigel pushes in as deep and rough as he can and wraps his arms around Will’s waist to cradle his belly in his arms. With Nigel holding him so close, trapping him against the tree and within the confines of his arms, Will can feel just how he _doesn’t_ trap Will on his knot, even though he’s reached the point where he soon _could_.  
  
Nigel buries his praise in Will’s hair: “Round and heavy with our pups just like you’re supposed to be.”  
  
Air rips itself from Will’s chest as his pleasure yanks at his muscles without mercy. His cock twitches and his hole clenches, neither getting _exactly_ what they want but can do nothing else but be overtaken by his mate’s touch, voice, and teasings.   
  
“Oh, you came already,” Nigel murmurs, “How disappointing.”  
  
Will trembles as he _whimpers_ – oversensitive in body as in mind. His next breath out might sound something like a sob. Nigel tsks his tongue as he pushes Will’s hair back from where it had fallen around his face. The hair is damp with sweat and the chill from the air cools further against the damp that’s gathered at his hairline.  
  
“Don’t worry, darling,” Nigel soothes. “We’re not done with you yet.”  
  
Nigel strips away Will’s clothes with as little decorum or delicacy as he’d treated Will’s pants. His shoes, his jacket, his pants, his sweater, his underwear, and his shirt land in a pile on the ground. As Nigel’s clothes start to join in, it looks more and more like a makeshift, barebones nest made in the middle of the woods. Duncan strips his coat away too, though he’s much more careful about the guns that weigh down his pockets.  
  
Nigel kneels on their temporary nest, his knees digging into his own jacket and the tops of his feet pressing down on a leg of Will’s pants. Together, Duncan and Nigel guide him to sit between Nigel’s spread knees and rest his back to Nigel’s chest. Duncan then kneels between Will’s knees and presses his hand into the crease at the back of them to push his legs open wider.  
  
“Your body isn’t just yours, is it?” Nigel muses, a murmuring whisper near Will’s ear.  
  
Nigel’s hands are back on Will’s belly, cradling the weight of it in the curve of his palms. His touch is almost appraising – seeing just how much _bang_ he’s getting for his _buck_. Will tries to arch his back as Duncan presses just the head of his cock against his hole. He tries, but the size of his belly just might be heavy enough to have him failing to even writhe his hips enough to get Duncan to press in.  
  
“Your body is mine,” Nigel continues on, nearly crooning. “ _Ours._ You’ve given it to us time and time again. Isn’t that right, Duncan?”  
  
Duncan only grunts as he _finally_ thrusts in. The act of filling Will is just as strong of an agreement as anything he could have possibly said. Duncan is a man of few words and powerful actions. The determined thrust of his hips and the strong grasp of his hands make sure that nothing can be lost in translation. There can be no question of how the slap of Duncan’s skin against Will’s has Will keening his head back against Nigel’s chest and clenching his jaw as his pleasure is demanded from him.  
  
“We’ve _taken_ time and time again,” Nigel declares as he presses his cheek to Will’s sweat-damp curls and chuckles as Will’s breaths stutter in his chest. “We’ve shaped your body exactly as we want it. We’re making you the Mother you’ve always been meant to be.”  
  
Nigel’s hand does another stroke across tight skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Their litter of pups grows and thrives just there. Will’s body has altered itself every moment of every day since his mates bonded and bred him. He may never again be how he once was. His mates will make sure of it. Even if he longs for touch and affection much as he has done with many litters before and even if he feels just as _desperate_ , circumstances have irrevocably changed.  
  
This time Nigel sweeps his hand downwards. It’s only the length and strength of his arms that allows him enough reach to touch Will’s cock. Still, his fingers only brush the head as he teases, “You should be grateful, shouldn’t you?”  
  
_“I am,”_ Will groans as the slightness of the touch might make it almost _painful_. Pinned between his mates and the weight of his womb, he can hardly move for himself.  
  
As Duncan thrusts in with another _smack_ and Nigel’s chest vibrates with another self-indulgent chuckle, Will feels his skin tingle with vibrations cast off the power and vibrancy of his mates. In the backdrop of the woods, Duncan has been rendered nearly single-minded. He only uses his voice to groan and grunt. Duncan’s hair hangs and sways in front of his eyes, which burn as bright as they can outside of a heat, but Duncan doesn’t seem to even notice.  
  
“How quickly can you come again?” Nigel asks as he thrusts his still-hard cock against Will’s back. His fingers touch a bit more firmly against Will’s cock as it throbs again. “My turn was too short. I want another one.”  
  
Nigel doesn’t give him time to answer. He knows what Will’s answer would be anyway. The twist of his wrist is confident. Nigel knows how to take as he gives. Will gasps as Nigel uses all his determination and all his impatience to bring Will closer and closer. Will’s breath catches in his chest and his fingers might tingle and numb from how air isn’t flowing quite right. He tries to welcome the pleasure approaching its peak although his lingering sensitivity might have him simultaneously ever so slightly fearing it.   
  
Will cries out as he comes again. He can hardly hear how the sound stutters. All other noise seems to fade into the background as the sensation of _feeling_ increasingly overwhelms all other senses. Without a knot to keep him locked in place, Duncan’s cock is pushed out by the frantic clench of Will’s hole. Will can hardly make the sound to whine before hands drag across his sensitive skin, pulling and pushing. Will tips forward until his hips are in the air and his face nuzzles against Duncan’s lap.  
  
As Nigel pushes in again, Will might simply become in tune with his nature. The heady musk of his mate has his mouth watering. The licks of his tongue against Duncan’s cock are lazy and sloppy, but not _unenthusiastic_. The next jolt of Nigel’s hips has Duncan’s cock pushing past Will’s lips. He takes Duncan deeper and deeper into his mouth and he hums in pleasure as Duncan pets his hand across his hair. He moans when his mate’s fingers _grip_.   
  
Duncan and Nigel pass him back and forth in between them like Will is something so simple as a rope used in a tug of war. Nigel is unrelenting in how he pulls pleasure from him with his touch and his words and the thrusts of his hips until Will’s orgasm hits him with the full power of a bullet shot from its chamber. With the third and the fourth, Will knows that although he couldn’t possibly call himself empty, he could definitely say he’s very nearly _spent_.  
  
While the latest cascade still rakes over his nerves like he’s being raked over the coals. Will pants loud and hard. He licks his lip to soothe how he’s bitten it so harshly. His next panting breath comes out thicker and harsher as Duncan’s hips obediently pull back until his cock can slip from Will’s throbbing, clenching hole _again_.  
  
Duncan’s hands keep a firm hold at Will’s hips, which is good and _necessary_. They’re standing upright again and it would be a long way to fall when Will might topple over with the faintest breeze. Duncan’s ragged exhale against the back of his sweat-damp neck sends a shiver down his spine that threatens to have his knees buckling. He would slump over forward if not for Nigel’s hands so surely and confidently cupped around his jaw.   
  
“Darling,” Nigel whispers to him as he brushes his thumbs against the blush that burns hot at Will’s cheeks.  
  
Will hums and leans into the touch. He closes his eyes against the way the world seems to spin and lurch. He might hardly be able to tell up from down, but in Nigel and Duncan’s hands he doesn’t seem to need to. They’ll prop him up, bend him, guide him. He doesn’t have to give anything a second thought.  
  
Nigel kisses his mouth and Will whines against his lips. He doesn’t feel like he can catch his breath and his body _aches_ , particularly his back, his hips, and his feet. Just the _idea_ of Nigel stroking his cock has him hissing and gritting his teeth.  
  
“Can you do one more?” Nigel asks just a hair’s breadth away from Will’s lips.  
  
He still can only pant and the panting pulls little, staccato noises out too. His tongue feels clumsy and his lips too dry as he admits, _“I don’t know.”_  
  
Nigel hums, it’s the softest sound Will has heard from him in a good, long while. His voice is commanding not because of the sharpness of the tone, but how the quietness of it prickles at Will’s ears the same way silence rings. “A bratty, little thing like you doesn’t know what he wants?” Nigel questions.  
  
Will licks his lips and swallows so that his throat might not feel so dry and _wrung out_. He’s moved past overstimulated and through a pleasant sort of overwhelmed fog and now he’s approaching a light-headedness that probably wouldn’t appreciate another swooping crash.  
  
“I can’t come again,” Will sighs. He feels boneless – and maybe _spineless_. He furrows his brow and licks across the points of his teeth. He pulls in a deep breath through his nose as he tips his head back. “But I want you to.”  
  
Nigel’s hum sounds something like a _purr_. It rumbles through him and lacks any disappointment or displeasure. Nigel presses his lips to the wrinkle in Will’s brow and takes his own deep breath. Will knows he must smell like well-bred, _well-fucked_ Omega, something very nearly as intoxicating as a _heat_.  
  
“Good boy,” Nigel praises. “That’s very good.”  
  
Any remaining tension leaves Will’s overly-exhausted muscles. Nigel and Duncan take hold of him once more in their hands and he feels almost dizzy as they turn around him – like _prowling_ – and their hands drag as they turn. When Will finds himself leaned against Duncan’s chest, he might think his mate is sturdier than any tree, more solid and deeply rooted than even the forest’s trees that have been growing for the better part of a century.  
  
“Should I breed you again, gorgeous?” Nigel croons against the back of Will’s neck where the bite he laid curves around.  
  
_“Yes, Nigel,”_ Will gasps into the hair that covers and warms Duncan’s chest. He grips some of it in between his fingers as Nigel pushes in again.  
  
Nigel aligns his body against Will’s until he might almost seem pinned. Only the size of his belly creates any space. As Will curls as much as he can into Duncan, Nigel curves as much as he can around Will. After being denied so long, both of his mates’ cocks are _desperately_ _hard_ , Will knows it. Their knots have come _so close_ to locking inside him over and over again. Nigel’s knot is already soon to swell past the point of being able to pull out again and Will can feel the ridge of Duncan’s knot as it rubs against his bare skin.  
  
“Touch yourself for me,” Will nearly _pleads_ , it’s muffled and mumbled against Duncan’s chest, but his mate still seems to hear him loud and clear.  
  
Duncan keeps Will anchored with one arm and, when assured that Will is properly secured, Duncan’s other hand grips at his cock and brushes against Will’s belly. With each stroke of Duncan’s hand, he rubs his knuckles up and down along the curve of Will’s womb. Will gets lost in the rhythm of it as he gets lost in the rhythm of Nigel’s cock pushing in and pulling out for the last handful of times.  
  
Duncan spills across his belly just a fraction of a second before Nigel spills deep inside of him. There’s a bone-deep satisfaction that warms Will’s belly in a way different from but just as wonderful as one of the many orgasms his mates has given him today. Rather than feeling overwhelming self-satisfaction, what builds instead is the gratification that comes from pleasure shared so well _together_.   
  
There’s no question of their appreciation of him or his appreciation of them. In this newfound – and likely temporary – stillness, their touches are softer. As Nigel fills him with what’s sure to become another new pup, his mates show Will how he will always be cared for: passionately, relentlessly, and then carefully and attentively. Will feels so deeply merged with their every desire and pleasure, that it takes him a while just to remember _himself_ and _only_ _himself_. They are patient with him for as long as it takes.  
  
They help him back into his clothes before they take care of their own. They wipe sweat from his brow and tuck his hair behind his ear. Will chuckles as Duncan wipes the surface of his belly clean with his dark, black sweater. They know Will feels like himself again when he smirks and gives Duncan an extra kiss on the cheek.  
  
They take the long trek back even more slowly than they’d done when arriving. Will’s legs feel a little less wobbly by the time they reach the edge of the forest. They emerge exactly from where they entered at the base of the great hill that rests below the castle. Chiyoh emerges from her little house there with a plate topped with a roasted fowl of some kind. It doesn’t have any of the flair for design or extravagance that Hannibal creates. In that way, it’s hard to believe it’s anything Hannibal would let come from the kitchen.  
  
Nigel’s pace, which had been keeping stride with Will all day, instead breaks out into a bit of a jog to catch up with her. Chiyoh allows his invasion of her personal space – to a degree. She looks at him with her sort of silence; it’s one that lacks complacency or meekness and instead has strength in knowing not everything deserves to be said and heard. Will can’t hear what Nigel is saying to her, but she doesn’t look surprised to hear it. Will’s not sure she would show it even if she were.  
  
Will lets himself stare even as Duncan guides him along back towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope folks enjoyed this chapter! Sex takes me _so long_ to write. If folks aren't a huge fan of the sex part (I don't blame you), please be assured that the next chapter is a lot of plot. 😂
> 
> I'm going to be putting a poll on Twitter when I tweet about this update and the poll will have to do with the pups, so if you have opinions, feel free to let me know!


	12. Chapter 12

Happy laughter and disappointed groans spill out into the hallway. Everywhere else in the castle seems hushed, hardly even making enough noise for a whisper, and nearly everyone else is tucked away nice and neat into their rooms. Will approaches the noise like a lone firefly in the dark. He’s drawn to the light like the firefly would be: seeking out a mate.   
  
When he rounds the corner, the noise peters out and is replaced by the clinking of little plastic chips. Katherine has her arms outstretched as she pulls a pile of many little blue, red, and green circles towards her. By comparison, the space in front of Nigel seems mighty empty. He rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead as a cigarette burns between two fingers. As soon as he sees Will, Nigel puts out his cigarette and waves his hand through the air to encourage the smoke to dissipate.  
  
“Well, hello, _darling_ ,” Nigel says with his usual mischievous little smirk.  
  
Will walks over to where his mate sits and loops his arms around Nigel’s shoulders. He puts his cheek against Nigel’s hair and groans as bending over both adds to the tension in his lower back and relieves it. The curve of his back feels harsher and deeper with each passing day.  
  
“Hopefully one of those pups is better at playing cards,” Katherine teases as she lifts a teacup to toast her own well-wishes. The little, white china could hold tea or alcohol; with Katherine, it can sometimes be hard to tell the difference. No matter how drunk or how sober she is, her eyes always seem a little hazy and her smile always gives the impression of something far-off. “Did Mischa tell you I volunteered to help take care of them?”  
  
“Mischa’s been distracted waiting for the baby to come,” Will says with a soft laugh.  
  
“Any day now,” Katherine lilts as she starts to shuffle their deck of cards. She seems to laugh at her own joke as she muses, “Any day now for many days.”  
  
“I was just with her and even in the middle of the night, she _still_ refuses to sit down,” Will says. He smiles as he thinks of Mischa pacing the room while Randall simply sits to the side and watches. Will has neither the sense of urgency nor the energy Mischa seems to get from it, so he’d mostly watched too and tried to keep the conversation going. “She’s sick of Alana telling her to save her energy for after the baby is born.”  
  
Nigel scoffs and he picks up a teacup that matches Katherine’s but most certainly has booze in it. Hannibal would disapprove if he could see how his brother takes hold of the little cup not by the handle but with his fingers around the rim. Nigel also clicks his tongue louder than Hannibal would. “Alana should stop being such a broken record.”  
  
“Whether you like it or not, Alana tends to have a good point,” Will reminds him teasingly. He knows Nigel is annoyed that Alana keeps reminding them that they should maybe decide that the five pups already growing in Will’s womb is enough for now. Nigel, of course, disagrees each time based on a general dislike for _moderation_.  
  
Will sighs as he smooths a hand over the great expanse of his belly. Tapping fingers against feet that kick out and tutting as a foot kicks out hard enough to distort the curve’s surface. “I don’t know how we’re going to manage with all of ours.”  
  
Five pups do seem like quite a lot to carry some days. They take up more and more space and seem to only get livelier. Any restriction that might limit the biggest ones as their siblings take up more space is then negated by how those siblings want to stretch their limbs too. But even when he can hardly seem to get any sleep and he might question how he could get any bigger, he still wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
Will doesn’t know when his brow wrinkled but his forehead smooths and eyes soften as he looks at Katherine again. “You said you volunteered to take care of them?”  
  
“A queen bee only thrives with her hive,” Katherine says as she starts to deal the next round of cards. She flicks her wrist and sends another one towards Nigel and fixes him with a look as she recalls, “My first time babysitting was watching this little pup. Always trying to stick his fingers in the honey jar.”  
  
Nigel chuckles as he tips up the edges of his cards. He can keep that smile; his hand’s not too bad.  
  
Will drags his fingers through Nigel’s hair that’s grown a little longer and might need a trim. For now, Will can simply enjoy how it slips and catches. He runs that hair between his fingers over and over to enjoy the feel of it until it threatens to make Nigel shiver with pleasure and affection. He smiles when Nigel rolls his neck to press against the next stroke of Will’s hand.  
  
Will looks at Katherine as he asks, “How many people volunteer?”  
  
“Many more than you will need. You choose the ones that suit you,” she answers. She tips up the edges of her own cards and raises just one brow and then smiles at Will again in that usual wobbly sort of way, though she does add a _wink_. “Keep in mind I’m happy to take a nightshift.”  
  
“I will keep that in mind,” Will promises with a laugh. He lets his fingers catch and grip in Nigel’s hair so that Nigel will tip his head back to look at him. “Speaking of, Duncan has Rusty for tonight. Come up and join me when you’re done.”  
  
Nigel doesn’t fight against his grip. He only pats at Will’s other hand where it’s still curled around his shoulder. “Your wish is my command, gorgeous.”  
  
Will huffs a quick laugh through his nose and kisses the crown of Nigel’s head.  
  
He knows it will be a while before Nigel is ready. He’s not just playing cards for the fun of it. Nigel has done nighttime checks around the property more and more often. This growing pattern might reflect has much extra worry on his part or it might be Nigel’s way to show consideration for how Randall might wish to keep close to Mischa after dark – especially since Will told her that his labor started most often late at night.  
  
Instead of going upstairs, Will turns a different corner. He’s glad to avoid the climb for now, but the trek he’s undertaking might be just as challenging, if not _more_. At this late hour, there are far fewer eyes on him and fewer mates hovering. This may be the only time when Will walks out the front door without anyone noticing. He hasn’t made himself particularly easy to overlook.  
  
Will loops his arm around and under his belly. He has to refamiliarize himself with his lower center of gravity in order to not tip over as he makes his way through the dark. The curve of his back feels even harsher as he has to lean back for counterbalance. He can’t see his feet, so he has to use generous helpings of care and hope to keep himself from stumbling and tumbling. It doesn’t help that his trek is made longer by losing his way once or twice before he finally finds what he’s looking for.  
  
There’s something like a mausoleum near where Chiyoh had been when Will and two of his mates exited the woods. It’s near where he’d seen her carrying a meal Hannibal wouldn’t consider fit for anyone at their dining table – maybe not even for _Rusty_.  
  
Floor to ceiling, inside and out, everything is made of stone, rigid and strong despite the test of time. Beyond the front door is a stone staircase descending downwards and covered in cobwebs, an oversight Will wouldn’t expect of Duncan’s domain. Duncan’s watch over the castle has left no crack unpatched, but Will has to be even more careful as he descends these steps, no telling what else has been discarded and left behind. Even the solid ground beyond the bottom step can’t be trusted as a bone cracks and snaps under Will’s shoe.  
  
Will bends over with less grace than he would like and has to brace his hand against a table as he stands back up again, but he manages to snag his prize. He studies the little bone between his fingers in the barely-there light from a collection of candles. It’s small, barely bigger than his palm; it’s clean of meat but not of grime.  
  
A mumbling comes from deeper in the darkness. At first, Will isn’t sure if he misunderstands what he’s hearing because it is so soft and muffled or because he still doesn’t _quite_ have an ear for Lithuanian. He’s been indulged by so many of the community who are more than happy to have a chance to practice their English.  
  
With every step towards what can only be described as a _cage_ , he feels more and more certain he hasn’t learned the words that come stumbling over from the lips of whoever is huddled behind the bars. There are little makeshift dolls tied to the unforgiving iron. As soon as Will is close enough, a filthy hand reaches around the dolls and between the metal spikes to extend out towards him.  
  
“You’re upsetting him.”  
  
Will turns on his heels. He hadn’t heard a door open or steps against the stone. Chiyoh’s expression is as neutral and impassive as her tone had been and it’s all so _quiet_ , a deadly tranquility.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she tells him. She has a gun in her hands. It’s not pointing at him – _she wouldn’t_ – but it’s ready if she needs it.   
  
Will raises a brow but doesn’t raise his hands. With more confidence than he actually feels, he recalls, “I’ve been told I can go where I please.”  
  
The man in the cage mumbles a new set of words, still ones Will hasn’t managed to learn yet. Chiyoh must know them but doesn’t pay him any mind. She just continues to watch Will, expression unchanged.  
  
“What’s he saying?” Will asks her.  
  
“He wants you to look at him, speak to him,” Chiyoh summarizes for him. Will might be about to turn around again when she insists, “But you’re not going to.”  
  
Will’s brow rises even further as he observes, “You’ve cast aside the social graces normally afforded to human beings.”  
  
He’s been under no illusion that his mates are _dark_ and might have cast aside the social graces normally afforded to _human life_. But still, he finds himself surprised that a prisoner has been kept under his nose and this is the first he’s hearing of it. He’d somehow forgotten that his mates have come with the promise of many unraveling secrets – _if it’s genetic, he may be in for a lifetime of it._  
  
“ _He’s_ cast them aside,” Chiyoh insists. Her insistence exists in the slight variation of her tone but doesn’t show itself in her expression. “All he’s allowed is the sound of water. It’s what the unborn hear. It’s their last memory of peace.”  
  
Will places a hand to his belly as a pup or two starts the next round of kicking. He thinks of what those pups must hear. Some of them are developed enough to hear and react to the sounds of their sires, but others might still only hear the sound of water and, perhaps, the sound of their mother’s beating heart.  
  
He considers the man in the cage, tortured by a pup’s last experience of peace, and thinks this hardly matches the cushy, coziness of the womb. It’s already cold outside and particularly cold down here. Will shivers even though he otherwise would say he’s almost always _overheated_. He glances at the man, mostly naked and shivering too where he’s curled on the floor.  
  
“You’re keeping him like an animal,” Will says.  
  
Will might see the slightest smile tilting Chiyoh’s lips as she remarks, “I wouldn’t do this to an animal.”  
  
Will turns the little bone still held in his fingers. “What did he do?”  
  
“All sorrows can be borne if you put them in a story,” Chiyoh announces as if she’s already reading out the pages of a storybook. “But that is not my story to tell.”  
  
Will quirks a brow. “Who is going to tell me, then?” he questions. “If not you?”  
  
“Hannibal should tell you.”  
  
Will huffs an indignant laugh through his nose – _that’s an understatement_. “Yes, he should.”  
  
Chiyoh tilts her head and holds her gun more casually, tipped further towards the floor and less so towards their prisoner. “Then we should pay him a visit.”  
  
“Yes, we should,” Will agrees, as he drops the bone back to the ground and turns his back on the man still mumbling, perhaps still pleading to be _seen_.  
  
Will climbs the stairs and Chiyoh doesn’t offer him any help. His hand drags through the dust on the stone that acts as a railing. He brushes it off on his pantleg and huffs when he’s at the top of the climb. Chiyoh keeps her hands on her gun.  
  
“How long has he been your prisoner?” Will asks as they travel back the way he came.  
  
“He was a prisoner before he became my prisoner,” she corrects, staying one step behind him even though he’s not exactly _quick_. Her voice whole the quality of a detached narrator even as she tells the part of the story that is her own: “By now, we have been each other’s prisoner for a very long time.”  
  
Will hums. “However did you find yourself in this situation?”  
  
“The responsibility was passed down to me,” she states. “I suspect I will be the last one to have it.”  
  
They pass by the hallway that leads back to where Nigel and Katherine might still be laughing, playing, and wagering. They also pass by Duncan’s room where Duncan and Rusty might both give a grumble in their sleep from time to time. At last, they stop in front of the door to Hannibal’s room.  
  
It’s never been said whether Will should have to knock or not, but he’s figured Hannibal would find it courteous so he knocks and waits. When the door swings open, Hannibal looks first at Will and then at Chiyoh. His hum sounds just as curious as the look in his eyes. Chiyoh must then determine that her job has been done; without even a greeting or a goodbye, she leaves down the hall.  
  
“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greets as he opens the door wider and gestures with a welcoming sweep of his arm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
Will walks into Hannibal’s space as he has many times before. Will never got the chance to see Hannibal’s office in the states, but he saw Hannibal’s home plenty. When he looks around this space, it seems like it might be a manifestation of both combined together as one. There are many, many books in multiple bookcases. Will’s read some of them; Hannibal recommended a few and Will selected a couple for himself. They’ve sat in the two chairs positioned evenly spaced and appropriately angled towards each other. In these chairs, they’ve sat across each other and discussed what they read and observed.  
  
Will takes a seat in the chair he usually sits in. He spreads his knees wide to create space in his lap for his belly to fit into. He used to place his arms on the armrests, but now there seems no other place to put them but curled around where their pups grow. It’s comforting to touch his hand to the shape and weight of it, grounding like some sort of worry stone.  
  
“I found something interesting,” Will says as he watches his thumbs brush back and forth. _“Someone interesting.”_  
  
Hannibal hums as he takes his seat in the opposite chair. He can still do as he always has done; he crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap. Will is so familiar with seeing it that he knows it without having to look.  
  
“What did you find?” Hannibal prompts.  
  
Will closes his eyes and considers what exactly he is that he’s found. He takes a deep breath and recalls, “A prison in a tomb and someone who could barely be considered alive.”  
  
“Tell me, Will,” his mate says like he’s _oh-so-unbelievably curious_. “How did you come to find this place?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter _how_ I found it,” Will counters.  
  
In truth, he has simply watched and waited since he’d noticed one too many in a collection of odds things. That had to mean something in a place with so many things that _could_ be considered odd but don’t seem that way anymore. Will hadn’t expected that particular collection of odd things to amount to what it did.  
  
He opens his eyes to look at Hannibal. He wants to see whatever changes in expression might manage to betray his inscrutable mate. “I want an explanation,” he says. “Chiyoh and I agreed that you should be the one to give it.”  
  
“Then I suppose I can only agree, as well,” Hannibal concedes as if he could actually be compelled to do something if he truly didn’t want to. Hannibal’s posture straightens when he pulls in a breath. “That is the man who conspired to steal our mother.”  
  
Will can’t say he knows what he expected. He might have found this answer obvious if the story of the previous broodmother didn’t feel so much like a legend. It has seemed almost impossible to fathom that the villains from that story might exist in the flesh and within the grounds of the place Will calls home.  
  
“Why keep him here?” he questions.  
  
“He was told he would stay there until he confessed,” Hannibal explains with a tsk of his tongue that might offer a sense of finality.  
  
“He hasn’t confessed,” Will infers. “How do you know it was him who did it?”  
  
“His co-conspirator, as it were, told us of the plan to take her,” Hannibal answers as he smooths a line down his perfect, wrinkle-free jacket. “Unfortunately, he did not get a chance to confess where she’d been taken to.”  
  
Hannibal’s expression is sunken. He looks even more like Duncan and they were already _identical_. The bags under their eyes, the pallor of their skin, their frowns, now they look _impossibly_ alike. To see Hannibal this way, Will feels the same softness in his heart for him as he has so many times for his brother. This is how he knows this is the most vulnerable Hannibal has ever been.  
  
“You wanted to find her,” Will says quietly, as if the volume of his voice could help it hit softer and hurt less.  
  
Hannibal’s eyes tip towards the floor as he tilts his chin down and away. “I have been forced to reconcile with the fact that we would only find what’s left of her.”  
  
“Chiyoh is right. You’re _each other’s_ prisoner,” Will says as he shifts in his chair. Hannibal’s chairs are aesthetically pleasing but not the comfiest. He cares more for the elegance than for the comfort. Will’s hips start to ache and he sighs as he continues, “You’re only prolonging the suffering.”  
  
“Prolonging his suffering,” Hannibal corrects. He doesn’t show quiet concern for Will’s pained grimace like Duncan would. He also doesn’t enjoy it in the way Nigel does when in a certain kind of mood. No, Hannibal doesn’t worry himself when Will has some aches and pains because he knows it’s par for the course. “My suffering doesn’t change.”  
  
“A psychiatrist who doesn’t hold hope to ease suffering,” Will remarks with a furrow of his brow.  
  
“Psychiatry hardly hopes to end suffering these days,” Hannibal instructs. “It settles with holding it at bay.”  
  
Will can _see_ as much as _hear_ how Hannibal withdraws into himself. Any tears that may have glistened in his eyes have been blinked away before they could ever fall. Will wishes they would have been given that chance. He may never have expected to see them and now regrets missing the opportunity. Hannibal’s vulnerability would be his greatest gift if he saw fit to give it. But, even if he did decide to, it wouldn’t be done nearly as easily as he would offer a meal or a blanket.  
  
“We’re creating something new, aren’t we?” Will asks as he rubs at where one of the pups kicks a little too hard. “You’ve had me leave behind my past so we could make a future but insist yours be kept waiting for you. Do you think mine was easier to give up?”  
  
Hannibal’s silence is just about the same as a spoken _yes._  
  
Will knows he’s thinking of the father Will doesn’t even write to, the pups he gave away with little hope to see again, and the lack of a social circle to leave behind. Tears sting at Will’s eyes instead. He can’t blink them away with the ease that Hannibal has. He can only shake his head and push himself to stand. He rubs his fingers against his eyes and feels them come away wet.   
  
He wobbles on his feet slightly and his voice wobbles just as much as he says, “The lives you should be spending your energy preserving are those of our family, our _pups_.”  
  
Hannibal moves to his feet much more easily. He holds out a hand as an open offering, but that’s as open as he’ll be. His tone is even and all-knowing as he starts to say, _“Will–”_  
  
An interruption comes in the form of a knock. It’s quick and insistent otherwise there might have been the possibility to ignore it. Maybe Hannibal would find that impolite. Ever the good host, Hannibal moves to the door and they discover Alana is there on the other side.  
  
She looks at Hannibal first, then quickly shifts her attention to Will. She tucks an unraveling wave of hair behind her ear as she announces, “Mischa has gone into labor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit nervous what y'all will think of this one. I hope you like it! :)


End file.
